Trophy
by ChuckNorrisLeftFist
Summary: In a darker AU, the winners freely prey on the losers. A loser becomes the winners' trophy. Dub-con. Update: The final chapter as the characters make life-changing decisions.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okaaay, this AU came out of nowhere. The next chapter will get darker.

Will Schuester came into the green room and held his hand up for silence. "Guys?" He didn't like this one bit. Either way, his kids would lose something. "Guys, Dalton has just said that they want to play Trophy rules with us."

The New Directions singers all looked at him in shock.

"Dalton wants to go Trophy?" Puck looked stunned. "But they've got to know they aren't as good as us. Those practice videos on YouTube _suck._" They'd planned to send Kurt to spy on the Dalton team but before he could do that, an account called ExWarbler had posted some really bad practice videos to YouTube.

Rachel, predictably, was the next to speak. "Really, while I deplore the Trophy rules, this could be to our advantage. When we win-"

"Shut _up_, Berry, if you can, for once." Santana looked nervously at Brittany.

"I didn't say that we would do what-"

Will had to head this off. "Guys, we've got the option to forfeit."

"No way! We can't forfeit to a bunch of prep school losers!" Finn leaned forward.

"Mr. Schue, didn't Principal Figgins say that if we lost another competition, he'd pull our authorization, that we already bring down the school's reputation for competitiveness?"

"Well, yes, he did, but if we explain, I'm sure that he'd understand." Like hell he would. Will could hear the principal's voice in his mind. _William, we cannot afford to lose another competition in anything. If we do, we lose another eighteen thousand dollars in state and federal funding to the for-profit school system. If you lose this one, I will have no choice but to terminate the club._

"Hellooo! As a black woman, I have to say-"

"We can take them with one hand tied behind our backs-"

"I don't like it, Mr. Schue-"

Will shouted through the overlapping voices. "We don't have long to decide." He knew that he should be the one to decide—he was the adult here—but the idea of either losing the club or losing one of its members as Trophy was impossible to decide. Shouldn't he also be encouraging the kids to make adult decisions? That way, he could say that he was just pushing them to mature. Besides, he'd seen the YouTube videos himself. And he certainly wouldn't let the club members follow the usual Trophy rules. "We're going, no, _you're_ going to have to vote on this."

"As Team Captain, I-"

"No, Rachel, everybody votes on this." Rachel looked a bit relieved, even while she was pouting. Will reminded himself that while she still craved control and admiration, she was learning that they were poor substitutes for genuine friendship and camaraderie. If she were the one to decide, she'd lose.

"Raise your hand if you want us to play Trophy rules." Finn, Puck, Sam, Santana, Kurt, Tina, and Brittany.

"Raise your hand if you want us to forfeit." Artie, Mike, Quinn, and Mercedes. Rachel was staring at the ground and then slowly raised her hand.

"Seven to five. We'll compete, then." Will tried to make himself sound confident.

In the Warblers green room, Blaine knew what the team was going to say, but he still enjoyed the confirmation of all of his planning. "Guys, I really appreciate this." It was just fine to let the grin cross his face now. He'd known exactly what he wanted and it was remarkably easy to get it.

"As the soloist, you're at the most risk, anyway, so it's only fair."

"And you've had to miss out on the benefits of the last few times."

"Well, okay, then, if you're sure." Blaine drank again from his water bottle. Things were going perfectly.

Finn might be clueless about most things, but not about music. New Directions was performing well, but it wasn't any better than that. Quinn and Sam hadn't really met one another's eyes during their duet and he even suspected that it was because of the different votes over Trophy rules. He checked out the audience. They were looking pleased but not intent. Nobody was leaning forward, nobody was mouthing the words or grinning across their entire faces.

Mr. Shue had told them the trick of finding somebody in the back row and singing right to them, as though the performance were only for that one single person. It gives the performance an intensity and chemistry that the entire audience will pick up on. He scanned the back row again to pick somebody out.

_Oh, my God. _Karofsky was sitting there in the back, without any of his jock buddies with him. And he was staring right at Kurt. _Oh, my God. _Karofsky's lips were parted and his eyes were hooded. He was staring at Kurt and looking like he was in a strip club.

Finn entirely missed the next dance movement. Tina couldn't help but stumble into him. Sam managed to push them both into the approximate right positions, but everybody's concentration was gone. At the end, the audience clapped politely and Finn could feel the rest of his team keeping from looking at him. Unless the Warblers really screwed up, he'd lost the competition for New Directions. And Trophy rules applied.


	2. Chapter 2

_I can't believe that I let that happen. _It was blindingly clear now to Will. _I thought that it would be more important to keep the glee club going at school. I didn't want the responsibility of choosing, but I should have been the one to make the right decision. Now we're going to lose somebody and New Directions will be dissolved anyway. And you know Figgins will exercise that right in your contract,_ another voice whispered in the back of his head, but Will didn't care about that now. Any employer could exercise the right to reduce non-executive staff pay by up to 30 percent without making another concession except reducing the length of the contract by 5 percent. _If it happens, it'll be what I deserve. Not one of these kids has the money to buy off the rules. _The official price was $175K, established after a Senator's child had been chosen in college for Trophy. The change had been heralded as a victory for family values, the American competitive spirit, and compromise.

Finn was repeating, over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Artie and Mercedes were both glaring at him and Rachel was sitting by herself in a corner, but the others were sitting near Finn and trying to comfort him. "I lost it for us."

"Come on, Finn, you didn't exactly expect to see that Neanderthal there." Kurt's voice was shaky but still full of contempt for Karofsky.

"I was pretty distracted, too." Sam added. "I was kind of sleep-walking it. We might have lost anyway." "They might still do as badly as they did in the rehearsal videos we saw," Tina said quietly. "It could be a race to the bottom here." In the silence that followed, they heard wild clapping and cheering from the hall.

"I don't think so," Quinn shook her head. "It doesn't sound like it."

One of the judges came into the room and made eye contact with Will. "Come with me, please." _This is it. It's real and it's happening. _

A boy in the Dalton uniform was standing out in the hallway. "Mr. Shuester? It's a pleasure to meet you. My name's Blaine and I'm the one our members delegated to make the choice." _He's offering to shake hands like this is any kind of deal._ The boy's handshake was warm and firm. "The one I'd like to take with us is your countertenor, the rather slight one, I think his name is Kurt Hummel?"

"Yes, that's his name." Will drew a deep breath. "Blaine, you've got to know something. He's had a terrible year."

"Really? What happened to him?"

Will tried to figure out if the question was politeness, curiosity, or perhaps even concern. "His father had a heart attack just after he got engaged to marry again. The insurance company wouldn't pay for advanced treatment. They were too close to making a loss that quarter so they didn't have to. Kurt and Carole, Burt's fiancee, did everything they could to raise the money but there just wasn't enough. He didn't make it." _At least he's listening._ "Kurt's always been bullied but it's gotten worse this year. He's gotten death threats."

Blaine nodded, clearly considering this, and then said, "That's good to know, sir. Thank you for telling me. I'm sure he'll be grateful, too." He looked away for a moment. "Do you want to go in first and tell him?" Will nodded. There was nothing he could do now but try to make it as easy as possible for Kurt and for the rest of them.

He returned, went over to Kurt, and put a hand on his shoulder. The others stared and Kurt went white. _God, he looks so young._ "Kurt, I just talked to one of them. He's picked you."

"What? No way! They can't!" Puck stood up, enraged. Mercedes bent over, sobbing, and Kurt, still staring at Will, put an arm around her.

"There's got to be something we can do," Rachel said, as firmly as she could. "There's nothing, Rachel. The money just isn't there." "There must be a mistake. They surely can't want a...a countertenor when they could have a...leading soprano instead. I'll go talk to them and explain that. After all, I can be very persuasive when the necessity arises." Will had thought that offering to give up a solo was Rachel at her very best, but here, she was offering to sacrifice herself for four months for somebody who wasn't even all that close to her. She was even trying to keep up the pretense that it was all about the stronger, better team coaching somebody from a lesser team. He'd never admired her more.

"No, Rachel, I can't take that. You're the one who can keep Glee together." Kurt actually managed to smile at her.

"Kurt, we lost. We won't have Glee any more, either. Without singing, except for the roles in local productions that might interfere with my education, I have lost almost everything that I live for."

Kurt got up and hugged her. "Rachel, it won't be a school club any more, but remember, you've got a practice room at home. Everybody can still meet there, and...that will give me something to come home to, after the four months are over. Promise me, okay? Promise?" Will felt like somebody had dragged a bottle brush through his sinuses as he fought tears as the two clung to one another.

Puck turned around. He had noticed Blaine, who had come into the room and was watching, quietly. Puck's face darkened and he silently tracked Blaine with his eyes and then turning his head to keep Blaine in his view. _Like an animal on National Geographic. _Will crossed to him quickly to ensure that he didn't actually attack the Warbler. _It would only make things worse for Kurt_. Fortunately, Puck must have come to the same realization.

"Kurt, I'm Blaine. I hate to rush you but the bus is leaving in about five minutes. It's a long ride back to Dalton."

"Okay," Kurt whispered, quietly, and turned to each of his fellow club members, sharing hugs and blurted goodbyes. Will snatched quick glances at Blaine, frustrated at not being able to read the expression on the teen's calm face.

After what seemed like no time at all, Blaine's phone buzzed and he looked at it. "Okay, Kurt, we've got to get going now." For the first time, he approached Kurt, and Will held his breath. Under any other circumstances, he'd have thought the way that Blaine took Kurt's hand was downright engaging. _Please, God, keep him safe. Please don't let him be broken. Keep him safe._


	3. Chapter 3

This was the stuff of Kurt's nightmares. Except this time, it was the law that was making him vulnerable. He couldn't hope for somebody to come by and rescue him or for the bullies cornering him to get bored or otherwise decide they were done. He clung to one thought. _Maybe all they really want is a countertenor. It _could_ happen. After all, unless Dalton's team was all gay, they'd have picked a girl instead._

He covertly looked at Blaine. The other boy, as if sensing his gaze, looked at him and smiled widely. Kurt breathed deeply in relief and then tensed again as he saw Blaine's eyes traveling down his body. "It's a cliché, I know, but from the first second, I knew you were the one I'd pick."

They were at the front door and Blaine held the door open for Kurt. "That's our bus. We've got a long trip back." He climbed the steps first and then held his hand back for Kurt, who took it, almost reassured by the touch.

"Guys, this is Kurt Hummel."

He blinked in surprise as the rest of the team broke into varied, "Hi, Kurt," "Good to meet you," and even a "How do you do?" _Well, this is civilized. _

Blaine led them to a seat in the back and when they were seated, turned to face Kurt. He put his hand on Kurt's face, his thumb stroking Kurt's bottom lip, gently prying to stroke the moist inside of the lip. Kurt swallowed hard. The touch was so intimate but this person was a stranger. Blaine's hand slipped down to caress his jawline and he tilted Kurt's head back up. The first kiss was gentle, even chaste, just on his lips. _It's not like Karofsky, he's not doing this to hurt you, he's got the legal right to do this, you can't stop it_. But when the second kiss became more urgent, and Blaine's mouth pushed his open, he gasped and pulled back.

Kurt could hear not just the blood rushing to his head but the thudding of his heart. When Blaine's hand pulled his head back up, Kurt couldn't do more than look briefly and furtively at him. Fortunately, Blaine was smiling, a smile that seemed tolerant, even amused. Blaine leaned forward and whispered intimately in Kurt's ear. "Are you a virgin, or just nervous?"

"Uh, both, actually, I-"

"Don't worry. After tonight, you won't be either. I promise." Blaine pulled Kurt closer. "I won't hurt you." Kurt made himself look in Blaine's eyes. They were warm and steady and Blaine brushed his lips over Kurt's again. Kurt shivered as Blaine's hands slipped under his shirt, stroking and exploring the skin, slowly moving up from his waist, pausing to toy with his nipples for a moment, and then sliding out again. Kurt made himself keep from pulling away when Blaine cupped his head to pull him in for another kiss, and even let his mouth open at the touch of Blaine's tongue. Blaine seemed to be satisfied with kisses and returning his hands under Kurt's shirt to continue the caresses that varied from light and almost teasing to pressing and squeezing as urgently as if he wanted to embed them in Kurt's skin. Finally, Blaine leaned back in his seat. "If I don't cool off, things could get very embarrassing indeed. I'm a screamer," he whispered again in Kurt's ear. He pulled Kurt into his lap and, stroking his hair, added, "Get some rest. It's a long trip and we've got a lot ahead of us."


	4. Chapter 4

AN:

Thanks for the reviews and thoughts that the trophy rules weren't clear. I tried to get something in here that isn't quite Basil Exposition. Not that I think that the world is going this way, but rather, that there are a more than a few people who would rather like it if it did...

* * *

Kurt woke up in absolute confusion. The light was wrong, the bed was wrong, he was aching, lightly, at least, in unfamiliar ways. Then he remembered everything that had happened. Trophy rules, Blaine bringing him here...

_You're a Hummel, you're a survivor. Even if your dad wasn't,_ jeered a nastier voice. _This isn't as bad as it could be. _Blaine hadn't been brutal with him. He'd even been tolerant during the moments when Kurt's apprehension had made him freeze or pull back. As he got up, he wondered where Blaine was, and then saw a note on the door.

"Hello, amazing,

"You were so sound asleep I didn't have the heart to wake you, though I have to say another body part was fully in favor of the idea. I've got classes until 11:00.

"I put out some clothing that should fit you and help yourself to anything in the fridge. There's always coffee in the kitchen down the hall.

You'll need to sign the paperwork. It's all on the desk.

"See you at about 11:01.

"Blaine"

The dorm room had an attached bathroom with a shower. Kurt gathered up the clothing that Blaine had left on the chair next to the bed. A shower would help clear his mind and then he'd call Mercedes and Finn.

In the bathroom, Kurt felt compelled to examine himself in the mirror. He didn't look any different, even though he would have sworn that a night without putting on moisturizer would destroy his complexion. He wasn't bruised or marked in any way. The hot water helped him feel more like himself, but what really helped was the Modus Couture shirt and Santorelli pants. He'd sold all of his designer clothing at the couture resale shop to try to get the money for Burt's operation and had never wanted to admit to himself how much he missed the feel of luxury fabrics and cuts.

He sat down at the desk and looked at the pile of papers. He was familiar already with the general terms of Trophy Rules as they applied to schools. The winning team selected a member from the losing team to reward the winners and provide the loser with mentoring. The winner could require anything of the Trophy as long as it didn't result in any physical damages or probable incapacity to participate in the workforce. He could purchase his way out with $175,000. Kurt snorted at that. Everybody knew that it was insurance to make sure that nobody who belonged to an important (read _rich_) family would end up in this situation.

It had all started in the corporate world. When unemployment hit 15 percent, people had gotten desperate for contracts, desperate enough that some corporations started providing them. Oh, the contracts were to the employer's advantage, letting them reduce pay up to 30 percent during a year, terms that lasted for five years but could be broken on the employer's side with a month's notice. The non-compete clauses were even more brutal. "If you don't like it, don't work for an employer who demands contracts," everybody said. "We need to make work more competitive. We need to make sure that workers contribute. We need it to stay competitive."

Finally, the schools had gotten in on the game. Students had to participate in extracurriculars to win. Winning was the only thing that could guarantee success. And nothing drove students to win than big stakes. But it was school, so it was all about the learning. Trophy Rules ensured that the losers would learn.

Blaine had highlighted where he was supposed to sign. Acknowledgment that he had read his rights and understood his responsibilities. He scribbled his name and then opened his bag to call Mercedes and Finn. He wanted to reassure them that it seemed as though he was one of the luckier ones but also dreaded talking to them. If they broke down, he knew he might. He reached deeper, not finding the phone in its usual place, and then upended the bag. It wasn't anywhere inside nor was it anywhere in his pockets. _I have now lost my virginity, four months of freedom, _and _my phone in the same 24 hours. Good going_.

He looked around the dorm room again and saw the landline phone on the wall. There was no dial tone and he decided to see if he could find an alternative when the door opened and Blaine came in, smiling widely. He crossed the room to Kurt and kissed him on the lips. "Hello, Sleeping Beauty. You know, it was very hard to concentrate on classes this morning because of you." Kurt smiled nervously. "Did you find everything you need?"

"Yes, but I think I lost my phone."

"Oh, no, you didn't, I've got it." Blaine patted his book bag. "I want to get you a new one. Did you find anything to eat?"

"No, I haven't yet."

"Then the plan is to get a phone and then go somewhere for lunch. For cafeteria food, this place really isn't bad, but I want to take you someplace special. Is French all right?" Blaine actually sounded anxious as he asked the last question, as if Kurt were some particularly picky diva he was trying to keep appeased. Kurt was willing to plead guilty to being a particularly picky diva—if the Prada shoe fits, wear it—but he knew that if anything, he had to keep Blaine appeased.

"_J'adore la cuisine francaise_."

"Ready, then?" Blaine held the door for him and took his hand, squeezing it against his thigh.


	5. Chapter 5

Will Schuester had to drag himself out of bed the next morning. He hadn't been able to sleep until about four, and then his sleep was interrupted by nightmares of what might be happening to Kurt. He wished he could stay and hide, hide from his having failed the Glee kids, hide from having to see their eyes, hide from whatever Figgins would say and do, hide from himself. His father had been one of the cops who ended up eating his gun and for the first time, Will understood at a gut level, not just in his mind. But he had to be there and do whatever he could do for his kids and for Kurt.

"William, you know that I don't have a choice here."

"I understand." Principal Figgins looked surprised that for once, Will wasn't arguing.

"I have to cut the club and exercise the option on your salary to make up for our financial losses." Did Figgins think that he hadn't understood or wasn't listening?

"I understand."

Figgins was definitely taken aback. "William, I cannot afford to let you make another mistake."

"I know." _Well, at least you managed something other than saying you understand._ "Is there anything else?"

"No, Will, you can go."

He saw Sue Sylvester in the hallway, striding towards him. _Oh, God, not her. _He was not ready to hear her mocking him, his Glee kids, or Kurt. But then he couldn't avoid this encounter, either. She stood right in front of him, staring right into his eyes, and the eye contact was so intense that he quite literally did not see her fist coming at him until it struck his nose.

He put his hand up. There was blood and his nose felt off-center. "Anybody would know that putting fake videos online is the first part of psychological warfare. You want to be a nice guy, Will, but it's not a nice world. If you can't make those kids of yours fail-proof, you shouldn't let them compete. There's a reason that I put everything I've got and everything they've got into the Cheerios. And if you don't know tactics, you shouldn't go to war." Her voice was actually sober until she continued, "I just explained to Porcelain's teachers that they are going to file his grades as they stand as long as he promises to keep up with reading." A faint smile, a ghost of the usual Sue Sylvester smile, crossed her face. "Three of the teachers thought they'd charge the kid. One of them said it was cost him five thousand." She shook her head. "That was a big mistake." Sue looked at him directly again, "Will, while you've often disgusted me and usually repel me, I can't ever say that you disappointed me. Not until this." She turned and walked away.

Will had never thought that he'd find inspiration and even a source of strength in Sue. She'd even taken over responsibility for getting his grades taken care of. A broken nose was a very, very small price.

* * *

Blaine let go of Kurt's hand to briefly stroke his buttocks and then took his hand again. He had learned on the bus that he had to ration himself carefully when it came to more intimate touches. Knowing that he had the freedom to help himself to Kurt at any time was both driving him crazy and letting him keep control enough to savor waiting. It was what kept him able to go to classes and even to pay attention instead of skipping in favor of spending all that morning in bed with his trophy, as well as taking him out for a little spoiling after classes.

He opened the passenger door for Kurt and when he started the ignition, took Kurt's face in his hands for a kiss. Kurt was still very much the recipient, but Blaine was confident that hormones and adding some courtship would make him more of a participant. In the meantime, Blaine could be quite content with the absolute freedom he had with Kurt, more than he'd had with any other relationship in the past.

He had to admit that morally, he had some doubts about Trophy Rules, or, rather, how they were applied. Sure, the theory behind it made a lot of sense, but he'd never actually seen them helping the loser. But then, they had given him this opportunity, and as he had said in the bus to his frightened, brave, almost-trembling trophy, he wasn't going to hurt him.

At the store, he led Kurt right to the latest models. The struggle he could see in Kurt's eyes awakened an unusual tenderness in him and he put his arm around Kurt's waist as he simply said, "We'll take that one" and handed over his credit card and the SIM card from Kurt's old phone. "Can you put this in, please?"

"Blaine, thanks, it's not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but you don't..." Kurt sounded subdued. _That will never do, you want him grateful and happy._

"You wouldn't deprive me of the pleasure of taking good care of you, would you?" Blaine wound his fingers through Kurt's hair. _So soft, so soft. And he's all mine. Entirely mine. _


	6. Chapter 6

At the French restaurant, Blaine reached into his pocket and handed Kurt his new phone. "They don't like people using them at tables, though, but there's a room right off the mens' room." Kurt felt a sudden surge of appreciation at the gesture of giving him privacy from Blaine as well as the others in the restaurant.

He glanced at the long list of messages and missed calls. He'd never get through all of them, he realized, either emotionally or in the brief time he figured that he had. He wanted to be the one to decide when to come back to their table, not to have Blaine bring him back.

"Hi, Mercedes, it's me."

"Kurt, Kurt, I've been trying to get you all day, are you all right?"

He closed his eyes to block his tears, picturing his friend all too clearly, making him miss her more than he would have believed possible. "I'm...I'm okay." _I can't tell her everything. I simply can't. _"It's...it's not been what I was expecting. They've even been polite and Blaine, I think he's actually the only gay one." He heard her blow her nose and had to cushion the truth. Embellish it. He lowered his voice to the confidential tone they used for the best gossip or discussion of who's hot and who's a mess. "He _is_ good-looking, lent me Modus Couture and Santorelli, which I never would have thought work together but they do, and he likes French food. So that's not bad, is it? At least, compared to my track record which hasn't been a spectacular string of successes so far." He congratulated himself. _Rachel may think she's the only one in Glee who can act, but I just nailed the performance of a lifetime. _

He heard another long sniffle. "He _is_ cute. In his own way," Mercedes quickly added.

"Sweetie, I have to go in a minute. He's actually taking me to lunch and I'm calling from the room where they let you use a cell. Tell Finn and everybody, tell them that I'm going to be okay. Tell everybody I'll call them as soon as I can."

"I love you, Kurt."

"Love you too, baby."

He wiped the sweat from his hands as he pocketed the phone. Given any choice, he'd have stayed on the phone for hours with her, even if they ran out of things to say. But then, he reminded himself, he knew from that first moment after he pulled back from Blaine's kiss and found that didn't change anything, his choices now had remarkably little to do with anything. Rather than dwell on that, he raised his head high and walked back to the table where Blaine was waiting for him.

* * *

Mercedes stared at her phone as if it had the answers to the questions that kept pounding at her brain like too many people trying to get through a door. Kurt had pretended that everything was going to be okay and she had pretended that she believed him. She'd even managed to say that she thought that Blaine was cute when she couldn't remember the least tiny thing about him except hating the way that he looked at Kurt, so slick and confident and with those eyes that savored Kurt like her boy was some kind of dessert.

The part of her that had been yelling at Kurt all day in her mind, the part of her that said that if Kurt hadn't voted for continuing the competition, they might not be like this had finally shut up after hearing his voice. She'd gotten to know the voice he used when he squared his shoulders to get through another day and more bullying and when he learned the insurance wouldn't cover the operation for his father and that was the voice she had heard just then.

He'd asked her to tell everybody in Glee that he was okay and that he was going to be okay. But that just meant that she had to figure out just what she was going to say. Well, that could wait until after school, when they were all meeting at Rachel's house.

At least one thing had changed. Nobody in Glee was taking the bullying any more. Finn hadn't let Karofsky yell more to her than "Hey, your faggot buddy-" before decking him in the jaw. After loudly telling Finn that she could take that big bag of lard, she kicked Karofsky's kneecap from the side, at just the right angle to make him half-scream. When another frequent bully started to taunt Rachel, Santana had kicked him so hard in the groin that he had blacked out. Some of the students who had been indifferent, or simply glad that somebody else was the bullying target, had even very quietly taken sides and a few of the students emerging from the Science Club at the time had sworn that he had tripped and hit his head, while the others didn't say anything to contradict that.

Mercedes kept her head held high, too. She wasn't going to back down from a fight any more and she wasn't going to shrug and forget the bullying any more. They'd lost but they'd get up, too, aand nobody would rub the losing in their faces. Not any more.

After the waiter took their order, Blaine said, "Your director said that you'd been bullied at your school. He was pretty concerned about you." The remark caught Kurt off balance and he looked at Blaine in surprise as he continued. "That's something you won't have to worry about at Dalton."

"Really?" _Really? Clever conversation, Kurt._

"It's not the typical culture. At Dalton, you see, we understand that when we're unified, we're all a lot stronger. We also know that now's the time when we're building the ties and alliances that can last a lifetime, the kind you want to be able to call on when you need, say, venture capital, or an introduction to somebody who knows somebody. I'm not saying that it's perfect, of course, but we work on it."

"Networking."

"Building the foundations. So since everybody will know that you're ours, nobody will hassle you." Blaine nodded in satisfaction.

Kurt decided that he had to break from the refuge of the polite chit-chat. Part of him didn't want to know yet, but maybe it would be easier to find out now. He could at least fight to keep a tone that suggested he was just curious, even though he heard his voice come out higher than normal. "That's actually a question I've got. When you say 'ours,' what will that mean?" He was going to add, "Exactly," but wasn't sure he'd keep control of his voice. It had been more difficult than he'd thought.

Blaine's lips compressed briefly as if he were trying to fight a chuckle. "Well, you'll be an honorary Warbler, so you'll sing with us at on-campus events, though that is optional if you'd prefer not. Of course, you'll be in all our rehearsals and if you like, get the private voice lessons we get." He reached across the table and took Kurt's hand, which had been wrapped around his water glass. "As for the rest..." He turned Kurt's hand over and delicately stroked the soft underside of his wrist, "I'm the only gay one in the group. Well, David's bi or at least bi-curious, but he's got a serious girlfriend. So no, we won't be squabbling over you." When the appetizers came, Blaine relinquished Kurt's hand, after one last stroke with his thumb. "You'll be just mine."

* * *

**AN: Thank you so unbelievably much for the feedback and reviews. This fic is a LOT of things that I've never tried before and so the reviews help tremendously. They also helped me figure out where this fic is going, which kinda helps. ;-)**


	7. Chapter 7

After lunch, Blaine drove Kurt back to Lima to pick up his things. Inside the familiar home, Kurt drew a deep breath. Maybe it was his imagination, maybe it really still was there, but each time he walked in, it seemed as though something of his father's presence lingered, that perhaps in the photographs of the two of them, Burt was somehow still looking at him lovingly, or the walls themselves had absorbed something of the essence of each hug, each awkward caring word. He had never been so glad that he hadn't yet been able to sell the house in the depressed market—being here renewed him.

With Blaine's assistance, the packing went quickly. He carried his clothing to the bed where Blaine efficiently stowed it in the big suitcase. Even though his wardrobe was much smaller now, he nonetheless blinked in surprise as he saw how much room there was left and Blaine laughed. "I learned to pack from my mom. When she goes shopping in New York, I think her suitcase actually breaks the laws of physics." He looked around the room. "Anything else that you'll need now? We can always come back for more if you forget anything."

Kurt hesitated. He hadn't planned to bring any photos with him. He knew it was irrational but a picture of Burt in Blaine's room would be just...wrong. He suddenly realized what would be exactly right and said, "Just a moment." He went into Burt's bedroom and took one of the oversized flannel shirts from the closet and folded it. Returning, he tucked it into the suitcase, saying idly, "In case the dorm gets cold."

"If there's nothing else, then, we'll head back. There's a rehearsal at four and you'll get to meet the rest of the Warblers. And I think we'll have some time to ourselves before then," he added in an insinuating whisper, putting his hand on Kurt's throat and stroking down the side with his thumb, and then stepping closer to hold Kurt against him. "God, sometimes I still can't believe how hot you are, even more than the first time I saw you." His mouth traced where he had caressed Kurt's throat, slowly nuzzling to the collarbone. His voice was thickened as he raised his head and said, "We definitely need to go back now."

* * *

Rachel had asked her history teacher for permission to skip class, since it was the last in the day. "While I understand the importance of maintaining a perfect attendance record, aside from authorized absences and legitimate illnesses, and of course I mean no disrespect to you, I have to consider the others in the former Glee Club and provide for their emotional needs as not all of them have the depth of resilience and personal fortitude that I possess." She had nodded wearily and excused Rachel.

Rachel hadn't specified exactly why she was skipping because she suspected that if she had explained in more depth that she wanted to make cookies, the teacher might not have understood the importance of gestures that provide nourishment in the form of sugars, starches, and fats, which provide certain biochemical reactions in the body and are also a cultural sign of caring and providing sustenance before a physical or emotional ordeal.

Keeping up the ideal conversation in her head, in which the teacher congratulated her on her acumen and also asked for her recipe as Rachel was certain to have chosen only the most perfect kind of cookie, which reflected her own personal successful pursuit of nothing short of excellence helped keep everything else at bay.

As she added the organic sugar to the mix in the blender, she delivered a mental lecture to the world on the importance of using ethically sourced ingredients and another on appropriate care for the environment as she waited for the exact second that the oven was ready. But when the doorbell rang and Finn came in, silently enveloping her in a hug, that moment of emotional relief temporarily stilled her inner voice enough to let all the fears and misery in.

Finn must have been reading her mind. "It's not your fault, Rachel. It's mine. I voted to keep in the competition and if I hadn't stumbled like an idiot..."

"They probably would have won anyway. We were in emotional chaos," she sniffled.

"What is this RIDICULOUS scene here?"

"Coach Sylvester, what are _you _doing here?" Rachel had not expected to see Sue, of all people, even though she'd heard that Sue had broken Mr. Schuester's nose.

"I invited myself and then told William, since I knew that his hair gel has probably penetrated through his skull and smothered his brain. Since he said 'Thank you,' which he and the entire world should do more frequently, I also appointed myself the new Glee Club Commander. Sorry, Clueless, I used words with more than one syllable that don't appear in _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_, which I assume is the peak of your reading skill. It means that I put myself in charge of Glee Club." Sue waved her hand dismissively. "I know it doesn't exist any more but I consider that I am fully capable of raising the dead if I feel like it."

"Your previous attempts to take over the Glee Club-" Rachel was too flustered to respond to the insult to Finn's intelligence, let alone Sue's categorizing Glee as dead.

"Were mere rehearsals for the main event," Sue rode over Rachel's attempted protest. "Now, you _really_ need me." She pulled out a chair and sat down. "Will taught you, in his own pointless and pathetic way, how to care for one another, how to express your love of music and singing, how music brings people of all backgrounds together, all that useless blather. I'm going to teach you how to be ready to _fight_." She bit into a cookie. "Hmmm. Satisfactory. Barely." If Rachel hadn't realized the dramatic weakness of flouncing out of her own house, she would have done it immediately but instead pointedly ignored Sue.

Mr. Schuester, Mercedes, and Quinn were the next to arrive, followed in a moment by Puck, Artie, Tina, Mike, and Sam. Santana and Brittany were the last, entering with joined pinkies. Sue looked at Will. "I'm busy eating cookies and trying to imagine the better world in which your hair doesn't remind me of toxic waste, so you can go ahead."

"Guys, first of all, I didn't take the responsibility that I should have. I left the decision last night up to you because I was was too scared to be the one to choose to break up Glee. What I didn't see then is that Glee isn't about being a school club or about entering competitions. It's about music and making music together." Rachel saw that everybody was nodding, except for Sue, who emitted a loud and very deliberate snore. "But we also need to keep challenging ourselves. That's why Sue is going to be sharing her time with us, because there's nobody in the world better at challenging people than Sue." Rachel could see the point of that, but she was good at challenging people as well, so was still indignant. She tried to pass the plate of cookies past Sue, but Sue simply grabbed it.

"By which Will really means, nobody else can help purge you of the stink of mediocrity. I once taught a group of Cub Scouts everything they needed to know for a successful amphibious landing and invasion of a hostile city of up to 3 million inhabitants and the only reason I didn't get them up to 5 million is that parents these days are too damn nosy and then too damn fussy when they find out what's going on."

Mercedes interrupted. "But that's all about _us_. What are we going to do to help Kurt?"

That was a perfect cue to turn attention away from Sue. "I talked to my dads and they said that they'd look for any legal loopholes, though they don't know of any successful cases resembling Kurt's."

"I was thinking we'd do this later, but I thought we'd make a video to send him, each of us saying what we respect or like most about him." Rachel had to admit that Mr. Shuester's idea was a good one.

Santana stretched. "That's easy. His manicures. I'm going to have to pay to get a decent one."

"You didn't mention that last night when you were crying and I was giving you Mr. Binkie to snuggle!" Rachel's belief that she was a little bit psychic was confirmed, since as much as she disliked Santana, the girl's comment hadn't rung true at all and Brittany's confused response made it clear that she was right. She wasn't able to share this with Finn as she'd have wished, since the group's members were quietly chatting among themselves about what they'd say or sing to Kurt. For the first time, it seemed realistic to her that they might all survive this.

* * *

Traffic had been so heavy, due to an accident on the highway, that Blaine and Kurt arrived with only fifteen minutes to spare before the rehearsal. Kurt even found moments to enjoy during the drive. They shared almost every favorite song in common and Blaine was magnificent to sing with. He was a performer to the core and, when he saw some commuters in other cars pointing or staring at a moment when traffic was at a pure standstill, let down the roof of the car and stood up, singing even more loudly, grinning an invitation at Kurt to do the same. After a very brief hesitation, Kurt followed Blaine's lead, and even followed his cue in bowing happily to both the commuters who were applauding and laughing as well as those who were looking unamused.

But when the traffic started up again and Blaine concentrated on driving, Kurt leaned against the door. Was he betraying or preserving himself by allowing moments of enjoyment and even letting in a brief sense of camaraderie with Blaine? Burt had never wanted him to compromise himself but then, he also wouldn't have advised Kurt to make his situation worse for himself. Blaine changed the music to a series of Katy Parry songs, turning to look and smile at Kurt at nearly every line. This was still playing when they pulled into the parking lot outside the dorm. "We'll unload your things then go to the common room in Davis Hall. Most of the Warblers actually live there, we try to coordinate that as much as we can."

The common room looked like something out of an English period movie. Wood and rich-colored paint and the various students sitting in the chairs chatting. Blaine re-introduced Kurt to the Warblers, this time introducing each member by name.

Wes smiled warmly at him after the introductions were over. "Kurt, we have a tradition that all new Warblers and honorary Warblers have to perform a feat of musicality. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to pick out a song that is _not _by Katy Perry." He paused for the laugh to finish. "To pick out a song that is not by Katy Perry and sing it for us in _three_ different styles. If it gives you inspiration, Blaine there sang 'Don't Cha' as a Sondheim song, as a jazz improv, and as hip hop. To the rest of you, I apologize for bringing up the memory of that last one." The rest of the Warblers laughed and Blaine groaned. "I was just experimenting with broadening my repertoire," he protested, but shaking his head good-naturedly.

Wes continued, "After warmups, it's your turn."

The pianist led the group through vocal exercises, very familiar to Kurt from McKinley. As the range got higher, the basses dropped out, then the baritones, and finally only one tenor and Kurt were left. The tenor, Mark, dropped to the lower octave but kept going, and laughing, the tenor gave up at the B flat below tenor high C, and joined the rest in applause as Kurt nailed the high C.

"Okay, Kurt, show us what else you've got."

Kurt didn't want to pick anything too personal. These moments were light enough, but he wasn't going to open anything up. His choice, "Brown eyes" by Lady Gaga, as a power ballad, a lullaby, and a Philip Glass soundtrack song got appreciative chuckles and applause. He didn't feel anybody judging him for the choice of music, didn't sense anybody thinking that his voice was freakish. _Enjoy the applause, you earned it,_ he thought, and _now you know that singing won't desert you, even here_.

AN: Thanks again for all the kind reviews. As you can see, I've tried to make this chapter longer.

Happy New Year!


	8. Chapter 8

After the rehearsal, the Warblers walked together across the campus to the dining hall. During the walk, one Warbler after another drew forward or dropped back to talk to Kurt, tell him he had an amazing voice, or even to propose a duet or trio for some upcoming campus performance. At first he was wary of taking it at face value, his past from McKinley making him suspect possible mockery and his present making him suspect some other kind of pending abuse, so he kept his answers light, not letting anything show beyond the most mild pleasure. But by the time they were at the dining hall, he had begun to let down his guard, at least a little. It seemed open and easy and maybe it was.

The cafeteria actually had healthy options as well as plenty of food that had been fried into submission. He selected a stuffed pepper and made himself a salad at the salad bar that actually had something other than brown iceberg lettuce and ranch dressing. He wasn't terribly hungry after the rich lunch but the food actually looked good.

He let the various conversations flow around him, with Blaine on one side or David on the other providing the occasional context. Most of it sounded just the same as at McKinley, grumblings about teachers who seemed to think that they were the only ones assigning homework, fervent sports discussions, and a political debate at one end of the table. But some things were different. The talks about some of the classes were enthusiastic and Wes and a few others seemed to have independent studies that they were actually enjoying. While clearly each table had different groups, there were friendly glances and waves and when people from different tables met at the salad bar or getting another drink, it looked like the differences between different levels of friendliness were whether they knew one another or not. The other difference was Blaine's hand either resting on his thigh or taking his own. Nobody seemed to care or even particularly notice, even the boy who came over to confirm a study group meeting for biology with Blaine. Blaine introduced the boy as Philip, took his hand off Kurt's so they could shake hands, and that was it.

David leaned over after they'd finished dinner and people started to get up. "The coffee here is terrible, unless you happen to like the taste of burnt crayons." Kurt grimaced, "Sounds so delicious I think I'll have to pass."

"You have chosen wisely." David paused after his solemn pronouncement, then reached in his pocket for a piece of paper and pen. "Listen, if you ever need anything and Blaine's not around, here's my cell. You should already be in the records and all that and get your passcard tomorrow or the next day, but just in case." Blaine's face had suddenly gone neutral and Kurt wasn't sure what that meant. Keeping perfectly neutral himself, he casually thanked David and put the paper in his pocket.

Most of the Warblers headed to Davis Hall after they left the dining hall but a few others walked with Kurt and Blaine further north across the campus before splitting off to their own dorm. Blaine had put his arm around Kurt's waist and while it seemed to attract a few curious glances from other students they encountered, Kurt was fairly certain, from the way that they looked at his face, as though it was driven by seeing Blaine with somebody unfamiliar. Blaine pointed out the various campus landmarks and sites of interest.

"That's the library. Your passcard will let you in and let you check things out. If you like that kind of thing, there's a pretty impressive collection of old books, the really old ones. They've also got a great collection of musicals and theater. Some of them you can watch on the campus network but others you have to go check out. Dalton's got a relationship with some of the off-Broadway theaters and so they get a lot of rehearsal recordings."

"That's the music building. If you want a practice room, you can just sign up for one." Kurt could hear a powerful voice running up and down scales. Blaine paused, adding appreciatively, "That's got to be Alex. He's not a Warbler, unfortunately."

"Why not?"

"He's hoping to go into opera and landed a gig with the Cleveland Opera chorus. He didn't think he could handle two schedules." Blaine grinned. "He also, to use his own words, dances like somebody dropping a hippo from a helicopter. He _looks _like he should dance like a young Ricardo Montalban-"

Kurt couldn't help interrupting. "Did you see that video of him with Cyd Charisse?"

"Yes! But you know what's even better?" Blaine was nearly shouting and stopped walking to face Kurt.

"Nothing could be better."

"Ricardo Montalban dancing with Rita Moreno and showing Lana Turner how to keep her hips loose."

"Why did _nobody_ tell me until now that that _exists_?" Kurt couldn't help but be a diva about this.

"The library has the entire movie that's from," Blaine answered, with a teasing smile, then again pulled Kurt by the waist closer to him and began walking again.

In the dorm room, Blaine closed the door behind them, put a finger on Kurt's mouth, and then paused as the phone rang with "I Just Had Sex." "That's Wes," he said quickly. "It might be about something important we're planning for David. If you want coffee, you can grab some in the floor kitchen."

Kurt very much wanted coffee and he also wanted a few moments to savor the relative peace and normalcy of the last few hours. Maybe it wouldn't be impossible for him to be, well, if not happy, okay here. In the kitchen down the hall, though, he looked at the coffee machine in amazement. He'd seen some fancy coffee machines in his life but never anything like that. An indicator flashed the message "Carafe empty." Looks like the machine wouldn't even make a pot of coffee, it had to make a carafe.

A cabinet was labeled "The Stuff of Life" and Kurt figured that was where the coffee had to be. He selected a bag of medium roast Kona and a filter, then confidently pulled at the spot on the machine where he thought the coffee would go. There were small compartments with labels for vanilla, orange peel, and cardamon, but no label for coffee. He looked in another part of the machine that swung open, but that was for milk. The next part that opened was a motor.

He heard a soft cough behind him and turned. Another student was watching and said, with a lyrical Middle Eastern accent, "You have not yet met Josephine, I see. Allow me to make the introductions." Kurt stood aside and the student continued, "Josephine is the lady of our floor, the goddess whose whims we fear and obey." He pressed a button that Kurt had passed over as unlikely to be useful and a door opened with a whirr. "Her anger is to be dreaded and yet the rewards of her favor are so exquisite that we serve her without question."

"She must be something else." Kurt was laughing as he leaned back to watch.

"She and her sisters on the other floors are the gifts of her inventor, a former student here. Josephine, or as I should call her, the Empress Josephine, is sister to Empress Theodora on the second floor and Empress Jingu on the fourth floor."

"Are they all empresses?" The student laughed and stepped closer to Kurt as he finished with the machine.

"When you taste her coffee, you will chide yourself for such a question. And I, by the way, am Hamza, one of her servants." He extended his hand, needing only a few inches to close the space between them.

"Kurt." As he waited, Kurt looked at Hamza. He was tall, dark, and would have been almost ridiculously handsome except for his huge, undisciplined eyebrows and the glint of self-mockery in his eyes.

"Are you a transfer or are you visiting somebody here, Kurt?" Hamza had dropped his reverent tone and asked casually.

"He's the Warbler's Trophy. And he's with me." Blaine crossed the room to stand next to Kurt, then cupped Kurt's buttocks with his hand before squeezing hard, almost viciously. Kurt tried to turn his head to look at Blaine but Blaine kept close behind him. He watched the emotions rush across Hamza's open face, first confusion, followed by recognition, then comprehension, and finally distaste.

"You will excuse me," Hamza said and left without looking back.

When Blaine released his hand, Kurt turned to face him, angrily, but the coldness in Blaine's eyes was frightening and the sardonic smile as he said, "Your coffee's ready" scared him even more. Kurt's hands were almost shaking as he took a mug from the shelf and poured it as deliberately as he could. Blaine sat down at the table and watched his every motion. Kurt wanted nothing more than to run to somebody, anybody, for help and comfort, but there wasn't anybody who could and would protect him. He finished, washed the mug, put it back on the shelf, and Blaine silently led him back into the dorm room.

* * *

After the Glee kids had left, Will and Sue went up to talk more with Rachel's dads. They didn't offer any real hope, but promised pro bono work if it looked as though there was the least possibility of getting Kurt back that way. He'd not been able to reach Kurt at all on the phone and didn't want to say too much in a message, just in case.

Sue had made him participate in the physical exercises she had demanded of the kids and he was exhausted and sweaty. She'd also explained that this was a warmup session and that next time, she'd put them through a real workout. Tina had started to protest but Sue had stormed over to her, leaned over, and pushing her finger into Tina's chest, barked, "This will help you control your breathing better, which you'll need to sing, make you more athletic dancers, and also make you ready for a physical fight. Do you want me to beat you into paste now so that the rest of them can see what happens when an athlete who knows how to fight dirty takes on a muscle-less overcooked Chinese noodle like you?" Tina shook her head silently but vehemently and Sue continued with the exercises. Will had thought that dancing and the occasional run had kept him in good shape but he hurt in muscles he hadn't even realized he possessed.

He and Sue went to their cars and then she shouted at him, "Dinner. My place," and drove off, leaving him no choice but to follow. Walking in, she told her housekeeper, "Two of us tonight," and went to shower, telling him to shower in the guest bathroom and for God's sake to wash his hair. He had to admit that he felt more than a little naked without even a little gel as he got out.

As they sat down to eat, Sue looked at him with an expression that, on anybody else, he'd have considered mournful. "I'm going to miss Porcelain. He might have been stupid about it, but he did have guts."

"He _does_ have guts, Sue," Will gently said. Sue looking sad was all wrong, like a duckling with a machete.

"That's something to hope for, but I'm not sure." She poked her food around her plate with her fork, then looked up and glared at him, which made Will feel much more comfortable. "Fortunately, I'm still angry enough with you to make me want you to stay the night." She took a deep breath. "Is it just that you're so unfamiliar with being propositioned that you're looking at me like that?"

Will closed his eyes for a moment. He was so emotionally exhausted that he could barely process what she'd said. But he realized that he knew one thing. In a world that offered so little of either solace or connection, if she saw some in him and he saw some in her, that was to be embraced.

* * *

AN: Another longer chapter-I hope you're liking that, though concluding part was a bit short. But then, it was a rather abrupt moment.

I really, really, really was not expecting that Will/Sue to happen, but the plot bunny took over. (I think the plot bunny for that part might be related to Sue.)

What do you think of the extra twist to Blaine? Does it work? Do you want to read what happens or does it work better as implicit?


	9. Chapter 9

Blaine closed the door behind them very quietly. He reminded himself yet again that he had told Kurt that he wasn't going to hurt him. He had to fight down his urge to grab Kurt and obliterate any sense of possible dispossession by engulfing his senses in the other's body, in a warm mouth, smooth skin, the gasps and soft cries of response he could elicit. As much as he wanted to, he feared that if did unleash himself, he wouldn't be able to keep his word. He might not have told Kurt that it was a promise, but it was. He sat at the desk, aware of Kurt watching him warily then turning to look out the dorm window.

He'd better concentrate on something else. His half-term paper for English wasn't due for another three days but since he'd already finished the reading and selected his topic, he pulled out his Kindle and pulled up _Othello_. He returned to the passages that he'd marked about Othello as a black foreigner and his limited acceptance in Venetian society. As he did so, he scrolled past the passages about jealousy and his notes from class about how Othello became pathologically observant of everything that Desdemona and Cassio did but never perceived what was really happening. After he'd started outlining his paper, he remembered Mr. Carpenter's dry voice, so precise with each syllable that he seemed to be tapping them out. "Othello observed everything but understood nothing. That, gentlemen, was how Iago directed the jealousy that entrapped him to the point that his destruction was inevitable. Evidence can support the most false hypothesis as well as the most true one."

Blaine shook his head back and forth, closing his eyes in embarrassment. He didn't even realize he was talking out loud until he opened his eyes and saw Kurt watching him. "I can't believe what a jerk I was out there. I _knew_ that he's Lebanese, that he _always _stands that close to people, I _knew_ that he's friendly and funny with everybody." By now, he talking directly to Kurt. He needed Kurt to understand what had been going on in his mind. "I even know that I've got jealousy issues. I had no excuse to be that rude to him." He really didn't like the idea but knew he had to swallow his pride and do it. "I'd better go apologize to him."

* * *

The instant Blaine was gone, Kurt opened his suitcase and changed into sweats. He didn't want even the feeling of Blaine's clothing on him. He had actually started hoping that things would be okay, that despite everything, the freedom from bullying and violence and homophobia would ease his being there involuntarily, at least part of the time, and then this had to happen. He'd actually expected Blaine to hit him. Of course, Blaine had gone to apologize to Hamza, but forgotten somebody who deserved an apology a hell of a lot more and was right there to apologize to.

He went into the bathroom and washed his face in cold water to help himself calm down. Even if he wasn't going to say a word about what had just happened, he had to talk to somebody who cared about him. He opened his phone to call Mr. Schue, since he was the one who had called him the most recently. Nobody answered and so Kurt nearly called Finn, but wasn't sure that he could talk to him without breaking down. Instead, he called Brittany. Aside from all of the text messages she had sent him, talking to her usually cheered him up, or at least distracted him.

"Kurtie! Is that you?"

"Hi, sweetie."

"Are you all right? When can we come see you? I miss you!"

"I miss you too."

"We all miss you and we're making a video about it in Glee. Well, it's not really Glee any more now that it's not at school and Coach Sylvester is helping but-"

"Wait, Coach Sylvester is _helping_? I don't think that's even possible, Brit."

"She is, and even Mr. Schue says that she is. She still made him do pushups, though. But we still miss you. I'd _never_ want to make out with her. Oh, that feels good! Do that again, Santana!"

"Brittany..." _Do you really want to know? _"Brittany, are you having sex with Santana now?"

She giggled happily. _Eww, bad mental image, horrifying mental image. _

"I'll call you later, sweetie. I love you, Brittany!" He waited for her to say, "I love you, too, Kurtie," heard something that sounded like Santana calling out, "Kick ass, Kurt," and hung up quickly. At least if he called Artie now, he wouldn't be interrupting them. Brittany would have mentioned if Artie had been there, too. Probably. Wouldn't she?

The door opened and he froze as Blaine came in. Fortunately, Blaine was looking rueful but calm, and when he went to Kurt to kiss him, his mouth was more gentle than insistent. Blaine pulled back for an instant to look at Kurt, studying his face as if he hoped to read some secret there, then buried his face in Kurt's shoulder, running his lips and tongue along the bone. He tugged lightly at Kurt's sweatshirt to start to pull it off and Kurt silently raised his arms, letting him. But when Blaine put his arms around Kurt to embrace him, his hands against Kurt's shoulder blades felt like they were freezing and he jerked back. Blaine swiftly exclaimed, "Sorry, I didn't realize my hands were cold, sorry," and rubbed them rapidly against his own shirt to warm them. He gingerly placed them on Kurt's forearm, "Warm now?" Kurt nodded and Blaine continued, seeming to be aware of nothing else but Kurt.

Instead of last night's seemingly uncomplicated and wholehearted enjoyment, this time, Blaine was deliberately and meticulously exploring his body, as if he were mapping out not just every inch of skin but every nerve, examining where a touch or a caress drew his physical reactions, a shiver or a murmur. Blaine seemed mesmerized by each response and even when Blaine finally indulged his own arousal, it was both passionate and scrutinizing, like a devotee finally uncovering the heart of the venerated secret. If Kurt had heard Blaine's breathless groans from elsewhere, he'd have thought the other was in pain.

It seemed as though hours had gone by before Blaine was satiated, but even then, his arm and leg remained splayed over Kurt's body until Kurt silently slipped from under their touch and covered himself with the blanket.

* * *

Will should have expected that Sue was closer to the "kick 'em out" type rather than the "cuddle until dawn" type, but he hadn't really expected to wake up alone at 5:30 to find her writing at her desk, finish writing with a flourish, come back to the bed to drop two pieces of paper on his chest, tell him to go home and change, and then pull on her running shoes, saying that she'd see him at school. Well, at least she hadn't actively kicked him out.

He put the papers in his bag, gathered his things, and drove back to his apartment. At the first stoplight, he fished for the papers, mostly out of morbid curiosity.

The first was headed "Grades," with the first entry "Sue Sylvester: Flawless artistry and execution, as always. A+." Right below that, was "William Schuester. Room for improvement. B." Several cars behind him had to honk before he could start driving again. She had graded him. On his performance. In the sack. She had graded him sexually and only given him a B. And written several notes for improvement. With diagrams.

By the time he got back to his apartment, he wasn't sure if he should burn the second sheet without reading it, but took a look at the heading, hoping that he wouldn't wish that he hadn't. "Ways to Recover Porcelain."

He ignored the entries that began with "Achieve nuclear capability" or ended with "Dispose of the bodies," but paused to consider the others as he shaved.

After Burt's death, both he and Carole had discussed adoption with Kurt, and Carole had gone far enough to talk to a lawyer as well. Kurt had turned them down, saying that he wasn't ready for a family without his dad. Will didn't think that adoption would have changed things legally, but he underlined the entry on Sue's list.

Another entry had caught his eye, "Background investigation for blackmail possibilities." Events had taught him that half of what he thought was his moral code was nothing more than fastidiousness or fear. He didn't want to make a decision with dirty consequences and he wouldn't have slept with a woman that he couldn't, at least in the back of his mind, at least be able to picture settling down with, at least for a while. Maybe that would matter again, once out of this crisis. Maybe it wouldn't. But now, he wasn't going to confuse convenience, habit, or unease with either strength or goodness. Not any more.

* * *

Puck had never been sensitive to atmosphere. After all, he was the one who created whatever atmosphere he wanted. If he wanted flirtatious, he'd turn on the charm and let it keep growing in intensity until he had his chosen cougar or Cheerio unable to keep her hands off him. If he wanted fear, he'd loom over the chosen victim, letting his face grow darker by the instant. While he always did, sometimes he didn't even _need_ to hit anybody after that. No matter what he wanted to score, chicks, money, drugs, he set up the scene and got what he wanted.

Or at least that was how it went until he realized that Quinn was going to give up the baby. He'd tried, but only half-heartedly, to get her to change her mind, but he knew that it really wouldn't work. But even after that, while sometimes the sight of a father and a daughter could catch him unexpectedly in a part he kept being reminded was still tender, he was able to go back to being the same old Puck.

But even he could tell that something about the atmosphere at McKinley wasn't exactly the same. The Glee kids were walking around with drawn faces and set mouths, but for once, looking like they might erupt into something other than song. He'd felt like he was the only one there who had the least badass in him, like somehow God had taken all the possible badass out of a dozen people and packed it all inside him, Noah Puckerman. Maybe God put aside some pink badass for Kurt since it did take guts to be openly gay when shooting gays going into a registry to get married was the new target practice for some, and some definitely-not-pink badass for Santana and Mercedes, but the rest of them were free of badass. But now, whether or not they had really achieved badass status, they were ready to let anybody who got in their way have it and were just as ready to have a really open definition of what getting in their way meant.

Figgins, Artie had told him last night, had called Tina into his office to yell at her for getting into a fight and she had actually yelled back at him for turning a blind eye to everything in the school that would make him look bad if he were to acknowledge it enough to address it. If he didn't want students finally standing up to the bullies, he shouldn't act like bullying is just one of those things that happens.

Somebody, and maybe it wasn't even somebody from Glee, maybe it was some of the science nerds, had caulked up all of Karofsky's locker except the top vent holes and poured gasoline over everything, leaving a single match taped to the front of the locker with the note "Maybe you're next."

There was still fear in the school, the fear that was just as much part of the atmosphere as the smell of sweat in the locker rooms or the smell of frying near the cafeteria. But unlike those, it wasn't in only the same places any more.

* * *

AN: Thanks again for the reviews and advice for this chapter!

I hope the prose for the Kurt/Blaine sex didn't get too purple—I was aiming for reflecting the intensity without letting it seem too normal.

Would more about the changes at McKinley be interesting, maybe from the perspective of different Glee kids? Or is it better to keep the emphasis on Will, Kurt, and Blaine?

I also hope that the mix from comedy to drama with both Brittany/Santana and Will/Sue reflected the crazy way that comedy can ricochet into just about any situation.

Hamza was purely a plot device at first. I just wanted somebody from the Middle East since for most Arab and Persian cultures, friendly conversation personal space can be as small as 25-30 centimeters, a much more intimate space for Americans, as a trigger for Blaine's possessiveness to go on full throttle. But then Hamza dropped his whole back story into my lap, so who knows, he might drop a bigger role for himself right along with it.


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt ended "Don't cry for me, Argentina," by beginning the last note very softly, letting it swell to full volume, and then dropping the volume again to almost a whisper. It was a trick that he'd learned from his previous voice teacher and he knew it showed off his breath control and the steadiness of his voice through the changing volume. He didn't need any encouragement to take advantage of the free private voice lessons offered at Dalton and Wes had strongly recommended that he take lessons from Ms. Cordwain. She'd never had major roles in the major shows in London but Wes had said that she was excellent and the other Warblers agreed, saying that she was tough but good. It had taken two days for her to have an opening and he'd gotten impatient during the wait.

He waited for her to express admiration at his delivery and his technique, but instead of the expected praise, he received a thoughtful nod and pursed lips, followed by a "Kurt, that's not the right piece for you at all, not at this point."

His jaw dropped. That song was his showpiece, his baby, and she had turned it down entirely. Maybe Wes had been wrong in encouraging him to work with her. "You sang it beautifully, but that's _all _you did with it. Evita is a mix of cunning and sentimentality, reaching her triumph but aware that she's going to have to manage her image more perfectly than ever before to stay on top. You sing it as it is on the surface, a very pretty song that shows off a very pretty, sincere thing. Let's try something else for you."

Kurt was ready to protest but forced it back down as she turned to the bookcase in the studio. He had the strong impression that she wouldn't listen. "You like the classic musical songs, right?" she asked as she flipped through several books. "Let's see what you can do with this." She put the music for "Ev'ry time we say goodbye" on the piano in front of him and began the piano introduction, adding, "This time is just for the notes and words."

Kurt was familiar enough with the song that he sang it through with only a few small flubs when the key changed. "Now, perform it for me, unaccompanied." She stood a few feet back, and just as he began the second phrase, took two backwards steps towards the door. "No, no, keep singing, Kurt. The song is about being left and saying goodbye—sing to keep me from leaving."

"Can I start again?" She had really thrown him off with first rejecting his "Don't cry for me, Argentina," and now literally starting to walk out the door when he sang. _I'll show you what I'm all about_, he thought to himself, almost vindictively. _I'll show you_.

"Of course." She went back to the piano, gave him the beginning chord, and he started again. This time, he focused entirely on her, meeting her eyes with his, making the "I die a little" half-boast, half-confession, and instead of walking backwards, she paused and then slowly, as if against her will, walked towards him again. By the time he sang, "Think so little of me," she was almost standing against him, but his victory made him lose focus. As she backed away, every single unwilling goodbye he had had to say came into his mind. _I've said goodbye too many damn times. _Each time he repeated the word "goodbye" or the phrase "I die a little," he forced the emotions to shape themselves to the song, anger exploding into one repetition, fear into the next, tenderness into another, and finally resignation into the last. During that one, she had silently placed the chair in front of him, all but literally sitting at his feet.

When he'd finished, she grinned all over her face, bounced up, and slapped him on the shoulder. "_That's_ what I wanted to hear!" He didn't realize that he was actually grinning right back at her until he felt a twinge in his jaw. "Do something like that on stage and you will have them eating right out of your hand."

"It's a lot more challenging this way," he admitted.

"You'd better be up to it, three times a week, 90 minutes each time. Schedule it with the department." she swung her purse over her shoulder. "Now I do have to go for real," she laughed.

He gathered his jacket and bag and followed her out, surprised to see Wes, Blaine, and a few other Warblers outside, clearly waiting for him. "Shhhhhhhh," Blaine mock-whispered as he took Kurt's hand. "We want you to conspire with us."

"To conspire?"

"David's 18th birthday is the 18th. His girlfriend is coming in and everything. We need something suitably epic." Blaine dropped the whisper.

"Two weeks? I could make a planned event epic in two days."

Wes laughed. "We knew you'd think along the right lines. By the way, what did you think of Ms. Cordwain?"

"I really thought I was going to hate her and want to switch, but then, I kind of liked her. She's a lot more challenging than my old teachers."

"Did she do the walking out thing?"

"Oh, I suddenly don't feel so special any more." Kurt pouted.

"If it makes you feel any better, she actually left the room, headed down the stairs, and got outside. I had to follow her, singing, until she came back in," Andreas, a bass, admitted. "It was pretty embarrassing. But I did get over singing too softly."

During the brief pause, Kurt tried to imagine Andreas singing too softly, since he'd never heard anything but robust sounds from him. "But back to the party," Blaine said, eagerly. "Can you start thinking about decorations?"

"I'm already on it. Something like David, something dignified," he started to think out loud, "dignified and handsome, but still with a sense of fun." He caught himself before saying more when he felt Blaine's hand contract momentarily around his own.

Wes emitted his own exaggerated, "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" as they reached the dining hall, and Blaine was laughing along with the others. "He's not even coming here until 5:30."

"Yes, but sound carries."

* * *

During dinner that night, Blaine's thoughts returned several times to his moment of jealousy. He wasn't sure if Kurt had noticed anything other than a squeeze to his hand and in many ways, regretted opening up to Kurt. Maybe he shouldn't have opened up like that, but on the other hand, it was done now, and he didn't want Kurt thinking that he didn't have any self-control. Maybe even opening up about his major flaw was helpful, his admitting a vulnerability could have made Kurt more comfortable.

His Kurt seemed to be adapting. It wasn't yet a week but Kurt seemed to enjoy the Warblers and he had looked so satisfied coming out of the practice room. It just had to be a matter of time before Kurt would adapt entirely and enjoy everything that he had to offer. His breath caught in a hitch as he remembered that first night together, Kurt's luminous, apprehensive eyes and his pale skin against the sheets, and he clamped down on his imagination before he could get too carried away.

His plan for the weekend involved some serious shopping for Kurt on Sunday. His socks and underwear were all high quality, and he had a few designer items from a season ago, but the newer things were all dollar-store quality. Kurt had looked natural in the couture pieces Blaine had lent him that first day, natural in a way that he didn't look in the cheap shirts and pants. Something had happened there, but Blaine wasn't going to ask. He sensed pride in Kurt, pride that could only endure so much, and he assumed that it was the usual story of a family falling from the middle class, maybe even upper-middle, at some unexpected event. His father's death was the likely cause and Kurt hadn't talked about that at all, not even when Blaine carefully left an opening. In any case, he was going to take Kurt shopping for the decorations and then take him shopping period. The idea of Kurt wearing the clothing that he'd purchased was strangely heady and he wasn't going to deny himself that.

"Oh, sorry, completely zoned out," he apologized as David flicked a corner of a bread crust at him and repeated, loudly, "About our set list, _Blaine_. We'll have that ready by Wednesday, right?"

"Definitely." He plunged back happily into the conversations, thoroughly enjoying the present and anticipating the near future, resting his hand on the inside of Kurt's thigh absorbing its warmth.

* * *

Saturday, Blaine woke as Kurt got out of the bed. At the sound of coughing and sniffling from the bathroom he called, "Kurt? Are you okay in there?"

Kurt looked around the bathroom door, his face and nose red and a fistful of tissues in his hand. "I think I've got a cold." His voice was raspy and clogged. Blaine immediately got up and touched his forehead. "You feel feverish. Here, get back into bed, I'll see if anybody's got anything you can take." He retrieved the box of tissues from the bathroom and put it next to the bed.

He scavenged down the hallway and came back with some cough syrup and decongestants. A cold had gone around the campus last week, so at least there were supplies on hand. "Do you want anything hot to drink, some tea?" Kurt nodded, blowing his nose, and Blaine went to the kitchen to find the kettle and tea bags. There was half a jar of partially crystallized honey in the back of the cupboard and Blaine warmed some of that in a shallow bowl, not sure if he would want it separately or in his tea. He shook his head in faint amusement at how little he still knew about Kurt. So much intimacy already but so much more to discover.

The kettle whistled and he turned the gas off immediately. His quest for something for Kurt's cold had already awakened a few unwilling sleepers and though his previous plans for the weekend looked like they were shot, he didn't want to substitute being massacred for waking still more. He brought the tea and honey in and Kurt thanked him with a scratchy voice as he spooned the honey into the tea and wrapped his hands around the warm mug.

"Are you cold? I can turn the heat up." Blaine was a little worried at how drained he looked. _He's your responsibility_. Kurt shook his head and Blaine said, "I'll go shower. The humidity should help." When he came out again, Kurt was asleep and Blaine wasn't able to resist tucking the blanket more closely around him. He went to grab some breakfast and bring something back for Kurt, maybe some scrambled eggs or something else that would be easy to swallow.

When he got back, Kurt was still sound asleep, the blanket pulled up to his chin. Blaine couldn't believe how besotted the sight of Kurt's tousled hair and sleeping vulnerability made him. _You've got it really bad_. He probably needed sleep more than something to eat so Blaine put the food aside. _Well, why shouldn't you be besotted? He's yours and when he leaves, it will be because the time is up. He's never going to use you, caring about him won't break you, and he'll never pretend that he loves you. _

* * *

Will looked up from his lunch in the break room to see Sue swaggering over. "How're you doing on that homework? Both sets of assignments?" she asked as she sat and smirked. _Funny how many words about Sue begin with S. Stalk, swagger, smirk, scourge, scary, saunter, scar, scold, scorch. There's also sex and stimulate, _another part of his brain added, with a Sue-worthy smirk of its own.

"Can we talk about it in your office?" He didn't want to believe that she would talk about grading him in the break room, but on the other hand, this was Sue. He was also fairly certain that she'd talk about the relative advantages of buying ready-made nuclear weapons versus buying the materials and he didn't want those conversations in public, either.

"I did call a friend of my dad's and got him to check police records. Blaine and his family are unfortunately squeaky-clean, pillars of the community, and so on. Two parking violations among them over the last five years. Nothing's even been hushed up, there aren't any files that go suspiciously blank. His parents divorced when he was ten, he stayed with his mother, his father took his younger brother. He's still looking for anything on any of the rest of that Dalton team. But he's got to be careful that nobody finds out that he's looking, that school pretty much is the place where the rich and powerful of Ohio send their kids."

"Damn. I was sure that anybody who also uses that much hair gel has an unsavory past just waiting to be exploited," she muttered, looking down at her desk.

_Is this Sue Sylvester being subdued? And why is my head still stuck on the letter S, anyway?_ She looked at him directly. "William, what if we can't get him out of there? If all we can do is wait?"

He gripped her hand. "Then we'll wait together. And be there together for him. All of us."

* * *

**Please do review! Thanks so much. Reviews feed the muse and the plot bunnies and are very environmentally sustainable. :-)**


	11. Chapter 11

Kurt slept off and on most of the day but by that evening, felt worse instead of better. He'd gone to lunch with Blaine and the Warblers, just to get out, but started to crash before he'd even eaten anything, and Blaine brought him back to the dorm, chiding himself for having agreed that it was a good idea. Blaine kept bringing him tea, juice, and yogurt, asking if he was hot or chilled, and brought a supply of books from the campus library.

By nighttime, his cough started to hurt rather than being just annoying and he had trouble catching his breath after a long series of coughs. The cough syrup helped but didn't eliminate them and his throat felt terrible. Blaine firmly told him that if he wasn't better in the morning, he'd take him to the infirmary, and kept asking if he didn't want him to call the emergency clinic number to get them to open up that night.

"It's a cold, Blaine," Kurt insisted, "I just need to get some rest."

"I'm concerned about you, that's all." Blaine smoothed Kurt's hair yet again and his fingers felt refreshingly cool against Kurt's forehead. Kurt re-opened the history of Broadway costume design that Blaine had checked out for him and resumed his admiration of the Ziegfeld Follies' extravaganza. Maybe he could talk the Glee club into at least the headdresses when he got back. Blaine sat beside him in the bed, slipping an arm around him and pointing out what he liked best or least. His tastes kept coinciding with Kurt's and Kurt wondered, yet again, what it would be like if they had come to this point together in some other way. _Any _other way. If they'd met in some_ ordinary _way at the competition and started out with flirting, or maybe chatting, getting coffee, and recognizing how much they had in common and becoming friends. He was so tired and this felt so wrong, especially when it felt as though it could have been right. Kurt couldn't help the tears that came to his eyes, but he was able to hide them by blowing his nose. They finished the book together and Kurt was caught by another coughing fit.

"I'll make you some more tea." Kurt was already sick of the taste of tea but it would feel good, at least, and keep him hydrated. After he drank the latest cup, he dozed while Blaine went to dinner with the Warblers. Blaine had promised to hurry back, despite Kurt's repeating that all he had was a cold. The time he could spend alone was precious to him; he could go back to all the times that were better and stay there, in his mind. He barely stirred at Blaine's return and quiet, "I brought back some soup and some pasta, if you want it, or I'll put it in the fridge."

Kurt was more fully awake later, and got up to shower and clear his congestion a little. But coming out of the bathroom he had another coughing fit and another as he got back into bed and curled on his side. Blaine looked at him contemplatively then seemed to make up his mind about something and went into the bathroom himself. Kurt heard the sound of something being pumped out of a bottle and then Blaine got onto the bed, putting his hands on the back of Kurt's neck. "Here, this will relax you," he said, soothingly.

Kurt had had it. Turning to face Blaine, he demanded, "For God's sake, Blaine, can't you leave me alone for _once_?"

Blaine jerked back as though he'd been hit by an electric shock. "What kind of a person do you think I am? I wanted to rub your neck and back since that damn coughing was tensing you up until your shoulders are practically touching your ears! What, you thought I was going to pound you through the mattress when you can't even breathe for five minutes without coughing?"

Kurt was about to answer that he thought Blaine might very well have exerted his rights when another coughing spell almost doubled him over. Blaine silently waited until it was over and started to knead at the muscles on the side of his neck, muscles that Kurt hadn't even realized were sore and rock-hard. Kurt, though, looked at Blaine and said, wearily, "I really just want to sleep." As silently as before, Blaine got off the bed and crossed to his desk, turning off the other lights in the room. As Kurt fell asleep, he was still aware of Blaine sitting and reading in his desk lamp's small pool of light. It would have made a perfect photograph or even portrait, an admissions brochure shot of a model student hard at work or one of those Rembrandt pictures that looked like serenity itself captured in an instant. But outside the pool of light, and under it, so much else was lurking, turbulent.

* * *

"So, you and Sue are an item now?" Emma asked, looking at Will with astonished eyes. She scrubbed her desk again with an antiseptic wipe.

"It just kind of happened, but yeah, we're an item now."

"Hasn't she always, uh, wanted to uh, destroy you? Are you sure it's not a clever, uh, trap?"

Will did have to stop and think about that for a moment. "No, I'm sure she'd have sprung the trap by now," he concluded. _And maybe eaten my head like a praying mantis. Except she hates my hair gel_.

"Well, I'm, uh, glad for you. A little bit scared, too, but glad." Will was glad himself, glad that she didn't seem to have any regrets. Carl was good for her and Sue was good for him.

He laughed. "At least you aren't saying that you knew it from the start and that it was only a matter of time before the two of us saw what was obvious to everybody but us."

"No, I'm definitely not saying that." She shook her head earnestly, red-gold hair swinging with the motion. "We'll have to double-date sometime, if she'll promise not to maim anybody or call the police on your hair saying that she saw several fugitives hiding in it. Remember that time we saw her at the mall and she did that?"

"Life with Sue does have some unforgettable moments. No, I'd say every moment with Sue is unforgettable."

"Damn right." Sue strode in. "It's one of the ways that I inspire fear, admiration, and envy everywhere I go. William, has your friend gotten anything else?" He hated that her face fell for an instant when he shook his head. She turned to Emma. "I don't suppose that you're experienced with extortion, blackmail, invasion, or any other useful coercion skills? Even a pamphlet or two on them?" Emma's eyes opened even wider and she shook her head. "I need to start writing some better pamphlets for you. Remind me, Will, because I'll likely forget if something more important comes up, which it probably will. Speaking of that, we need bandoliers for tonight's practice."

Will hoped profoundly that she meant for Glee and not for what she'd taken to referring to as his personal practice sessions.

* * *

Halfway through the night, Blaine got out of bed, carefully folding the blanket around Kurt behind him. Kurt's sleep had been restless, and Blaine thought he might sleep better on his own. He retrieved a spare sheet from the drawer and went out to finish the night on the couch in the kitchen. The study room on the top floor was more comfortable but in the kitchen, he'd be within reach.

He put his unease about the situation firmly aside. Kurt was feverish and tired, that was all. It was still new to him as well. Blaine had watched the YouTube videos of New Directions so often when the Warblers were scoping out the competition, and had focused on Kurt for so long, that it felt like he'd known him for longer than it had really been. Provided that Kurt didn't get seriously sick and that this really was just a cold or maybe flu, everything would be fine. He'd take Kurt to the infirmary tomorrow and make sure that he was all right, and everything would be fine. Just fine.

Blaine slept soundly until the loud light switch and immediate light in the room made him sit up, wide awake and for a moment forgetting why he wasn't in his own bed. Hamza was looking at him with an equally confused look.

"I didn't know you were asleep here," Hamza said, cautiously.

Blaine had to chuckle at the way Hamza wasn't asking any questions. "Kurt's got a cold, I though he'd be more comfortable with the bed to himself." Hamza was backing out and reached for the light. "No, I should get up anyway and see how he is." He looked at his watch. 7:00, later than he thought. Rubbing his eyes, he went back to the dorm room to find Kurt still sleeping. The wastebasket, which Blaine had emptied earlier, was full of tissues again and he still looked flushed. When Blaine touched his forehead, he stirred a little and sighed and Blaine withdrew to let him sleep. He hadn't realized that the other student had followed him until he nearly bumped into Hamza.

"Is he all right?"

"I'm taking him to the infirmary once it's open and Dr. Lloyd is there. I'm pretty sure it's just a bad cold with a fever, but there was that outbreak of pneumonia last year on campus, and he's mine, he's my responsibility. Oh, crap!"

"What's wrong?"

"I've got this interview tomorrow with Brandt and Hoffmann for a summer internship. I'll have to cancel it and see if they'd reschedule, I don't want to leave him alone if he's sick..."

He could see that even Hamza, whose interests lay entirely in biology and chemistry, recognized the name Brandt and Hoffmann, one of the most important investment banks in the midwest. He could hear his parents yelling at him now over giving up the chance, but he had to take this responsibility seriously.

"I can stay with him," Hamza offered. "I promise that I won't try to operate or otherwise turn it into a good essay opportunity for pre-med."

Blaine was torn and he realized that his immediate reluctance wasn't from his sense of responsibility towards Kurt. Hamza was trustworthy and kind, and Kurt liked him. He didn't want to leave Kurt with Hamza because he was jealous of exactly that. He swallowed hard. "Are you sure?"

"Of course. It's Teacher Institute Day and I was planning to spend the day doing a literature search for my independent study anyway. I can do that from your room or in-between checking on him just as easily as I could from the library. Better, probably, because Ms Mellior won't be there." He grinned. Ms Mellior, the librarian, was not the stereotypical librarian in the least and had inspired probably thousands of fantasies about being punished for overdue books or being offered special late-night assistance with searching databases.

"All right, then, thanks. I appreciate it." Blaine actually felt relieved once he'd accepted Hamza's offer and was fairly certain that it was relief at having fought down jealousy again as much as relief at being able to make it to the interview. If he had to admit that he hadn't gotten the job that would be bad enough, but admitting that it was because he was looking after what both his parents, divorced or not, would call a distraction would be worse.

* * *

Kurt was feeling better in the morning but agreed to go to the infirmary. There, the doctor had listened to his lungs, examined his throat, and told them that Kurt had bronchitis and a fever of 102 F. He gave Blaine a thermometer, telling him that if Kurt's fever got any higher than 103 F, they should wipe him down with lukewarm water, but otherwise, let the fever and sleep and decongestants do the work.

After more sleep, he was awake enough that he started to think about decorations for David's birthday party. The color scheme was the first thing, of course. A classic dark green and gold would have been his first choice but he wondered if they'd look too much like leftover Christmas decorations. After asking Blaine, who had the same problem, he grabbed for his phone. "Mercedes is a goddess of color schemes." He tried to change it from sleep mode but then remembered he'd forgotten to charge it.

"Here, use mine."

Blaine tossed his over from the other side of the room and Kurt caught it. He looked at the wallpaper picture, of a much younger Blaine holding a toddler in his lap. "Who's the mini-Blaine?" Ordinarily, Kurt thought that showing people pictures of small children should be a felony, but there was something about this photo, the infectious, easy joy between the two of them.

"That's my younger brother, Marcus." Blaine was across the room in an instant and opened up the folder. His eyes and smile were soft as he tapped through the pictures, a photograph of Marcus unwrapping a big stuffed elephant while Blaine was watching, the two of them in Santa hats, another of them lying together in front of a fireplace, and more. They were what Kurt guessed was chronological order and the last photographs were different. For a moment, Kurt couldn't put his finger on it until he saw that the smiles were pleasant but not radiant. Not quite "smile for the camera" but not the smiles of pure joy of being together breaking through. "I miss him so much."

"That must have made it hard to go off to school."

Blaine shook his head, his eyes still absent. "No, it was earlier. When I was ten and he was six, our parents split up. My mom took me and Dad took Marcus."

"Why would they do that? Separate the two of you?"

Blaine shrugged, "Finances, something to do with that in the divorce settlement. He doesn't miss me any more, which is good. He got used to it more easily, I think. So I'm glad for his sake that he wasn't any older when it happened." He cleared his throat. "We still see one another a few times a year and we talk on the phone." He cleared his throat again. "So, the color schemes goddess?"

"Hi, Mercedes."

"Kurt, what happened to your voice? Are you all right?" Kurt sometimes wished that not every conversation with somebody from McKinley started with asking if he was all right. Having to reassure everybody each time meant that he had to keep pretending, whether the day had been all right or a bad one.

"It's just a cold, sweetie, and I was just at the doctor who said that I'm going to be fine."

"Well, all right, but you go back to the doctor if you don't feel better."

"I've got a colors question and had to call the Mercedes Jones hotline for all things color."

"And you got the one and only Mercedes Jones."

"Color scheme for an 18th birthday party. I want green and gold, dark green, but that might look too much like Christmas."

"Whose party?"

"One of the seniors here. Classy style but not entirely a traditionalist."

"Dark blue and gold? Royal blue and gold?"

Kurt could see it but it didn't pop out at him. He repeated the options to Blaine who waggled his hand up and down. "Could work but it's not perfect."

"Red and gold has the same Christmas problem. Does the accent have to be gold?"

"It doesn't have to be but I'm not seeing silver here."

"Copper? Maybe not copper and green but copper and blue?"

"Mercedes, you and I should be the only ones allowed to dress the entire world. Copper and blue is genius."

"You know it." She waited while he coughed again. "Are you sure you're all right? That sounds like a serious cough."

"I promise. It sounds bad, but the biggest threat to my health is that I can't open my mouth without somebody sticking a thermometer in it and I might swallow the damn thing. It's like being stalked by nurses and not in the way that Puck describes that dream of his." That got a giggle out of Mercedes but his throat was starting to hurt. "My voice is going. I love you, sweetie, and I'll talk to you soon." Color scheme down, now the only thing he needed to do was find copper and blue decorations. He dozed again, thinking about branches painted copper.


	12. Chapter 12

When Kurt realized that Blaine was going to sleep somewhere else Sunday night as well, he put his father's old flannel shirt on over his sweat top. He knew it didn't make any sense, but he was reluctant to wear it with Blaine anywhere around, as though he could somehow shield his dad from the knowledge of what had happened since his death.

Before going back to sleep, he texted or wrote emails to everybody in Glee. He told Rachel and Mr. Schue more about Ms Cordwain's voice lessons and the video collection, told Mercedes about the rest of his decorating ideas, and told them all about the campus amenities and how easily he had been accepted by the Warblers and that nobody at Dalton taunted or bullied him. He told them how David had gone back into the Warblers' carefully documented archives to get music and performance notes from the last time that they had "a countertenor of your caliber." There was a major Donor's Dinner coming up and the Warblers had been invited to do a retrospective of music from the past decades and they wanted to show off Kurt's talents. He snorted at what he'd produced, never lying but referencing Blaine and his own subjugation only as "some things are challenging." Maybe he could write financial reports or politicians' speeches for a living, with that ability to gloss over certain aspects of a situation. He must have fallen asleep after that, because he didn't wake up until a knock at the door the next morning.

"Come in?"

"The mighty Empress Josephine presents her condolences on your illness and offers rich gifts of consolation." Hamza brought in two mugs of coffee, with a small bag of muffins. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks."

"Now we can have coffee and at least as long as your voice holds out, I want to hear more about you." Hamza fixed his bright eyes directly on Kurt and if he hadn't been almost two meters tall, he would have looked like a little boy at story time. Kurt had to laugh at his eager attentiveness.

"Well, I've spent all my life in Lima. Have you ever been there?" Hamza shook his head and Kurt assured him, "You've not missed that much. For most of us, it's a place to be from rather than to go to. But it's where my friends are."

"And your family?"

Kurt still had to swallow hard before saying anything about Burt, even to a sympathetic listener, or perhaps especially to a sympathetic listener. "My mother died when I was younger and my dad died just a month ago."

Hamza gasped, "I'm so sorry, I wouldn't have brought it up if..." Kurt looked away and Hamza added, quietly, "In Paradise, they're still with you, Kurt."

"I don't believe in a god," Kurt snapped, and Hamza groaned, "I can't believe I keep saying all the wrong things. Can we restart the conversation entirely? Good morning, Kurt, how are you feeling? I see that a conversational klutz brought you some breakfast, while he himself will be snacking on his own foot, by the looks of it."

Kurt had to laugh at the other boy's dismay and that provoked a coughing fit. Hamza threw up his hands and then buried his face in them, which didn't help Kurt control his laughter. "Why don't you tell me about yourself, then?"

"So I can keep digging myself into this hole? Well, then, my parents emigrated from Lebanon in 2005 and my mother got a job in Cleveland. She is a hospital administrator and please don't stop believing in genetics when I say that my father was in the diplomatic service."

"Lebanon to Cleveland must have been a big change."

Hamza's face grew thoughtful, "It was, yes, especially for them. They didn't want to leave, but...they could tell that Lebanon was only going to be torn further apart, that in every community, too many neighbors had become enemies and too few of the influential wanted unity more than power. When they talk about unity and unifying Lebanon, they mean only to make the entire nation believe what they believe. There was a bombing in our neighborhood and two families were killed. One of them was my best friend's family. I couldn't even speak for almost a year and that was when we left."

"I'm sorry."

He laughed, "You actually do have an alibi for most of the bombings and assassinations, with a few exceptions. Since having too perfect alibis is _always_ a sign of guilt, I don't think you really need to apologize. How did we get to depressing each other so early in the morning, anyway? For the rest of my story, I've more than made up for a year of not being able to talk, as I'm sure you can tell, and I want to go to Johns Hopkins for pre-med. And you?"

"I want to go to New York, but I'm not sure what I want to do or where I want to go to school. Sometimes I think I might not even finish high school." Hamza looked entirely confused and as though he were about to spout every single platitude and piece of common knowledge that Kurt had ever heard and the next thing he knew, he heard himself shouting. "At my old school, I was bullied every single day, every single day! I've been shoved into lockers until I'm black and blue, people came to my _house_ to intimidate me there, I had to carry changes of clothing every day because people threw drinks all over me, and finally one of the worst bullies kissed me by _force_ and it was my first kiss. He threatened to kill me and he acted like he was going to _rape_ me if he ever got the chance and the only people who cared couldn't do _one single thing_ to make it stop except say that they'd keep an eye out. So they could do what, stop him in the act of killing me? And now I'm here, where nobody bullies me and people treat me like I'm human and not a freak because I'm gay, but Blaine gets to have sex with me whether I want it or not." His voice gave way before he had finished, but he had to rasp out the last, "If Blaine had just waited...if he'd let me decide if and when...I'd be following him around with my tongue hanging out like some kind of _puppy_...I'd have wanted him so much..."

He hadn't realized how much he wanted to say all this out loud and how much he'd been holding back, not even able to let the words escape and burden somebody who cared about him. Hamza was looking at him helplessly and slowly reached out, tentatively gathering him into his arms and rocking him back and forth. "Shhhhh, it's all right, I'm a stranger, you can tell me...you can cry, Kurt, shhhh, it's all right to cry like this..."

When his sobs quieted, Hamza asked, "Kurt...have you considered asking Blaine...he's not cruel, I don't think he even guesses what you're going through, I don't know him well, but if you explain..."

"I've thought about it every time he touches me or kisses me." There were no words for Kurt to express the emptiness that started in his gut and enveloped all of his mind and heart as he whispered, "But what he if says no? Then I wouldn't have anything to hang onto...nothing." Part of him felt almost a miserable triumph as he watched Hamza try to think of the perfect logic to refute this and fail.

* * *

**AN:**

**I hope this explains why Kurt's not told Blaine off!**

**Just a short chapter this time around since I'm not sure if no reviews for the last one meant that the chapter and direction weren't very good or if it was just one of those things. I don't want to drive too far in the wrong direction!**


	13. Chapter 13

AN: A lot of ugly imagery in Karofsky's thoughts and some violence. Just forewarned. Next chapter will open with Kurt telling others what happened so if you want to skip, skip.

* * *

Dave Karofsky had gotten sick of it all. Things at school had changed. The Glee club was still at the very bottom of the pyramid, along with all the nerds and losers, but for the first time, all the school pariahs were acting like they didn't know or care. Not many of them picked a fight face-on, but all the sneaky stuff was going on. It felt like a floor he'd been walking on was starting to twist and roil underneath his feet. He was still on top of it and that wouldn't change, but what was underneath was alive and a tiny push here and a tiny pressure there.

Not that that was really the problem. The real problem was that the fag school had taken the fag princess with them, which should have been great. No more Hummel walking around like he was such a perfect prissy little fairy. If God or fate or somebody hadn't decided to play the worst possible trick on Dave Karofsky and decided to make him lust after Hummel like a normal man would lust after a Playmate, it would be great to have Hummel gone. Now, at the fag school, somebody else had tapped that ass for the first time, and probably they were tapping it each time one of them actually got enough testosterone to get hard. They were probably passing him from hand to hand like a bong at a party. If they knew about how a football player, a hockey player, a jock was lusting for their little sex toy, they'd laugh their heads off at him, dangling their swishy wrists as they threw back their faggy heads and laughed.

Good thing for him that he'd directed as much of that frustration as he could into a plan. He'd scoped that fancy rich boy school out, put together everything he needed, and he'd get exactly what he wanted. He might not be able to manage it all today, but he'd be able to set everything up.

He felt like somebody who had had nothing to eat but dry bread for a month and was finally going to pull his chair up to a big steak dinner. Oh, yeah. Dave Karofsky had an appetite, and it was going to be satisfied.

* * *

Blaine's sophomore year English teacher, Mr Dobbes, had made them memorize long poetry each week. He'd said all kinds of things about how memorization is exercise for the brain, a skill that would give them far more than just a head full of vaguely remembered lines. Blaine hadn't expected the side benefit of the sensual thrill as he buried his face in Kurt's jawline and whispered as he slowly licked and kissed his way down Kurt's neck. "A hundred years should go to praise/thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze." His mouth was muffled as he continued to murmur, but the poem's pulsation kept its rhythm. He raised his head when he reached Kurt's navel and dipped his tongue in once, teasingly, wanting to see for himself the way that he could make Kurt's breathing speed and his eyes dilate. "For, Lady, you deserve this state/nor would I love at slower rate." He resumed, lifting his mouth again as he veered to pour his attentions on the turn of a hipbone. "And now, like amorous birds of prey/Rather at once our time devour/than languish in his slow-chapped power."

Blaine found the thrill more, rather than less intense each time he tenderly undressed Kurt and taking his time, relishing each second, transformed him from his remote, even chilled reserve, to a wire quivering with tension, released just before it sprang to pieces. He had to admit to himself that he was addicted to Kurt and his thoughts turned to him like an addict's to the next fix. Unless he was focusing entirely on something else, no matter where he was, anything, a gleam of color, a turn of a neck that was just enough like Kurt's, even a stray whiff of salt or soap like the smell that he greedily devoured from the other's skin could bring his memories and senses back so powerfully that it seemed there was no separation of time or space from the last moments with Kurt in his arms and bed.

It wasn't as though other moments were less real but that the moments with Kurt were somehow hyper-real, made from some more brilliant kinds of matter and energy. It even made him feel a kinship with the others that he knew experienced the same kind of thrill, as though when he saw David's face glow at the sound of his girlfriend's cell tone or even the sound of her name, or when Andreas couldn't help but look at his girlfriend's picture for an instant every time he picked up his phone.

Even his awareness that time was limited added to the intensity. There was so much to thrill and experience and delight in urgently, but still to linger in and give his attention to every square millimeter of Kurt's body.

Except somehow he felt superior to the poet who had captured that duality in his sensual verses. Each time that he was buried in Kurt's body, he felt as though in those compressed minutes, he had infinite time. Even in what had become routine already in those first weeks, the light kisses on Kurt's mouth, then lying on his back and pillowing Kurt's head on his chest, there was still variety, each time slightly different from before.

Blaine's eyes flickered to the clock and he saw it was later than he thought. He sat up and bent his head to kiss Kurt's shoulder. "It's almost four and I've got Ms Hernandez at 4:30. She gets homicidal if I'm not warmed up already." Pulling his clothing back on, he started to vocalize up and down thirds, fifths, and finally octaves as he quickly ran a comb through his hair. "I'll come get you before dinner."

Kurt swung his legs out of the bed as well. "I actually want to go to the gym, the small dance studio should be free now."

"I'll pick you up there, then." Blaine got in a quick fondle to Kurt's buttocks before leaving with a final kiss on his cheek.

* * *

Kurt dropped his iPod in the base and picked out the Jacques Brel song that Ms Cordwain had assigned to him. She'd picked a musically simple one, "Quand on n'a que l'amour," telling him that he'd started to sing and stand too tightly, too coiled around himself, and told him to dance and stretch to it first. She'd also made him do his own translation of the lyrics to make each turn of phrase his own.

As Brel's slightly raspy baritone began the third verse, Kurt began to sing under his breath to keep the rhythms fixed. "When we've nothing but love/To live our promises/And no other wealth/But to believe love always." He still didn't feel as though he'd gotten any of the movements right and sat down to think how to fix it. After a moment, he laughed to himself. It wasn't the kind of song that you could dance as a solo. Far from it.

Mentally, he put Mercedes, Finn, and Rachel in a triangle with himself in the center. No, that didn't work either. He added Brittany and then Puck to help lift her into the air, alternating her and Rachel. There, that was better. Not perfect, but enough to get the ideas and his body moving. He started the song again from the beginning.

* * *

Karofsky didn't expect much of a challenge at the gates when he drove in with the landscaping truck he'd hotwired from the service's parking lot. He kept the baseball cap pulled low over his face and muttered, "Forgot some of my stuff." The security guard waved him in without a problem.

Maybe for once life was going to take it easy on him. He saw Hummel walking alone into a big, modern building with a black steel sign calling it the Winder Family Gymnasium. He hadn't really known what to expect, but it wasn't seeing him walk around alone and, well, freely. Not that he'd expected that they were keeping him chained to a bed somewhere, but this looked almost too normal.

He pulled the truck up to the back, got out, and tried the service door. It was locked and had one of those keycard pads, the first obstacle he'd seen. But even that seemed to be going his way as a student came out and politely held the door for him.

Staying unobtrusive, he scouted around for Hummel, finally glimpsing him through a glass door to a studio. Only the door was glass so he caught sight of him only for a moment. Karofsky waited to see if he could spy anybody else in there, but didn't see anybody else come into view and didn't hear any voices. He opened the door and came in.

Hummel looked at him, startled and flushed. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I've got a plan to get you out of here," Karofsky felt a broad smile of excitement and anticipation come onto his face as he crossed the room to stand over Hummel, backing him against a wall that was out of sight of the door. Hummel's face was just what he wanted to see, confused and nervous and actually eager to hear what he had to say.

"So here's the deal. I've got one of the landscaping trucks out back. We leave signs of a struggle here. I've got a ransom note we'll leave, too. We'd just ignore it, wouldn't even check to see if they paid. My dad just broke his ankle so he won't be using the little hunting cabin we've got about an hour from here. You'll stay there until your sentence here is over, plus a few weeks so it won't look like too much of a coincidence. I looked everything up and if you disappear involuntarily from here, you're actually free once the time is over," he added, at Kurt's skeptical look. "Let's face it, Hummel, nobody would ever go looking for you anyplace that belongs to _my _family. It's not much but it's got propane heat and I've even stocked it with supplies."

God, he was getting off on the way that Kurt was clearly searching the plan for flaws and not finding any. "I'm not running any big risks. I'd break into the cabin and you could handcuff yourself to a pipe if anybody comes in. You make up a fake description of the kidnapper. So even if somebody does find you, it's still time off your sentence."

It was like he could read Kurt's mindand knew what the next question would be at the tilt of his head. "So are you doing this out of the kindness of your heart or what?"

"Oh, no." He stepped closer to Kurt, intimately, hooked his finger into his shirt collar, and then bent to whisper just above Kurt's mouth, "I get what I want out of this, too. Every chance I get." He opened his mouth again to take Kurt's in the kiss that he knew belonged to him now, and then felt Hummel try to shove him away.

"The fuck? What the hell are you thinking, this is your chance to get out!"

"Right, by selling myself to you! No, thanks!"

He could not believe this, not at all. Hummel was actually trying to step around him and leave. Dave caught him by the arm. "Listen, you idio-"

"Let go of me." Hummel's voice was just as chilly and proud as it had ever been, as if he weren't the fag boys' pet trophy. One possibility came into Dave's mind. "Are you saying that you _like_ it here, Hummel?"

"God, no! I don't have my freedom, I don't even have my own body, but at least I'm not selling myself to somebody who's done nothing but brutalize me."

The worst, the most disgusting possibility came into Dave's head as he felt the soft, expensive fabric under his hands, the kind of fabric Hummel hadn't worn since his father had died, and then saw the expensive watch. "You _slut_!" He shoved Hummel into the wall. "You slut, pretending you don't like it, but all this...you _whore_!" It actually hurt, part of him that he'd never acknowledged had wanted Kurt to see him as a rescuer, as a knight in shining armor, and to fall in love with him, to look up at him with shining eyes and cling to him like a fucking _bride_. But while Hummel was saying all that about not selling himself, he was choosing to stay here and get all these rich boy presents. "I would have _loved _you," he ground between his teeth, leaning against him.

If Hummel had backed down, Dave would have just walked out in disgust. But instead, Hummel spat out, "Let go of me," again. Dave stepped back to swing at him and Hummel actually dodged the first punch and started to run. He grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back. Hummel threw his head back and screamed.

The only person who came in was a little mouse of a kid, even smaller than Hummel. "Is everything all-" Mouse boy stopped and stared.

"None of your business, don't make me hurt you, too," Dave growled. Instead of backing off like any sensible person would, the guy actually came running towards them and tried to grab Hummel out of his grip. Dave sent an elbow right to his head and that staggered him. Now that there had been a witness, things could get bad, but then again, while he hadn't told them what he'd be doing, his football buddies had promised to say that he was with them all night, and he'd been wearing gloves. He decided to make a run for it and leave the slut behind. But at the sound of the fight, another boy had come in, this one not a shrimp but still easy enough for him to take. "Back off and you won't get hurt," he warned, but the retard saw Hummel and Mouse Boy and tried to tackle him, yelling for help.

That seemed to open the floodgate and this time it was a group of boys that heard. Dave tried to fight them off and make his escape but there were too many this time. Half of them were holding him back and the others were going to Hummel and Mouse Boy, fussing over them, asking if they were okay.

Some black kid came in and looked like he was taking charge of Hummel. He had an arm around his shoulders and was looking anxiously at him. "No, David, really, I'm okay, thanks to-" Mouse Boy looked up. "Jim. Jim Driver." Dave knew he should be thinking about his own situation but instead, he could just keep staring at Hummel and the black kid, David, who was standing protectively next to him. Hummel was looking at him as if he trusted him. "Slut," Dave whispered one last time.


	14. Chapter 14

Campus security was one the scene in minutes and shooed away the kids who hadn't actually seen the attack. "Everything's secure, it was an isolated incident, the boys he attacked aren't seriously hurt, it's all taken care of, now move along, please." It took several repetitions and more than a little edging out the door. Associate Dean Mr Garvey came a few minutes later and reinforced the orders to move along with several stern stares. David, though, had insisted on staying with Kurt and still kept a hand on his shoulder, while another boy, Manuel, stayed with Jim. Even in the commotion, Kurt couldn't help noticing that Manuel was even bigger than Finn, so Jim and Manuel looked just as mismatched as he and Finn did.

"Kurt, do you want to call your parents?"

"They're both dead." David winced but continued, "Anybody else, then, a relative, do you have a guardian?" Kurt shook his head and David asked, further, sounding alarmed, "A legal adviser? Anybody?"

"Yeah, I'll call him." He got Mr. Schue on the first ring.

"Kurt? Is everything all right?"

"I'm safe, but Karofsky just came here. He...tried to make me leave with him. It's okay, about 20 different kids came to the rescue, but I think I could use some help, things might get complicated with the police and all that."

"Of course, we're not even that far now."

"We? Does Mr. Schuester have a date?" Kurt wanted to forget things in some rich gossip and asked coyly.

"Oh, give me that!" He heard the sound of a voice that his ears were telling him was Sue Sylvester's. "Yes, Porcelain, William was taking me out to dinner and now it looks like dessert is going to be some sweet, nutritious ass whomping. Don't say anything and above all, don't sign anything until we're there. If anybody asks you a question, play dumb, and if you need inspiration, think about the natural disaster that is your Glee coach's hair, that would send anybody into a coma."

"Kurt?" It sounded like Mr. Schue had wrestled the phone back. "She's right, just wait until we get there."

David laughed with a very wary chuckle. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop but couldn't help overhearing. Who _are_ those people?"

"It's a long story."

"I want to hear it sometime." He paused. "I think." His phone vibrated and he reached for it. "Good, Blaine got my message, he's coming over here." Kurt kept his face still, not wanting to betray the sudden extra churning in his guts. Blaine would mean drama and he just wanted to get this over with. David had pulled a chair around so he was blocking Kurt from Karofsky's line of vision. That, plus Karofsky keeping his mouth stubbornly shut, even refusing ice for the rising lumps on his forehead and cheekbone, had kept the tension about as low as it could be under the circumstances, and Blaine was definitely going to dial it right back up.

Kurt almost felt sorry for Mr. Karofsky when he came in, looking angry and alarmed. He drew Dave to the side and looked like he was asking dozens of questions that Dave was answering in just monosyllables. Blaine was the next in and Mr. Garvey met him outside the office, talking vehemently to him. Blaine fortunately looked as though he were calming down a little and when he came in, he ignored Karofsky and his father entirely, rushing over to Kurt.

"He said you weren't hurt, that you're okay?" When he grabbed Kurt's hands, his felt ice-cold.

"I'm fine. Nothing that serious happened."

"Except that somebody attacked you, _here_, where you're supposed to be safe!"

"Look, they caught him, that's what matters."

"He's right, Blaine. Kurt's got somebody coming who can act as his adviser and then we can get this over with." At David's words, Blaine collapsed in the chair next to Kurt, still gripping his hands.

"So what exactly happened?" He let go of one of Kurt's hands to stroke his cheek and lips, very briefly.

Kurt sighed. "Is it okay if I just tell the story once, when everybody's here?" _I also need the time to make sure that the story's tight. I'm not going to out Karofsky, even now. Hell, especially now. I really, really don't need that. _

"Of course." Blaine sat quietly for a moment and then shivered. "I...it just hit me how much I hate the idea of anything happening to you." He lifted Kurt's hand, brushed it against his lips, and put it back down.

Sue burst into the room, followed by Mr. Schuester. Blaine, David, and Mr. Garvey instantly rose. Sue registered them for a moment, with an expression that suggested she was measuring their heights for a firing squad's convenience, and then ignored them to stride to Kurt, who got up to go to her. She tilted his face up and scrutinized him. "You're looking pretty good, kid," she said gruffly, and by now, Kurt knew how to interpret that from Sue Speak into normal human expression. "Yeah, I'm okay," he answered, quietly. Mr. Schuester, not being from Planet Sue, hugged him. When Kurt let go, Blaine reintroduced himself to Mr. Schue and introduced himself to Sue, who stared at him with the kind of expression that could reverse global warming back into the ice age. Kurt could see that Mr. Schue nudged her and she gave Blaine a grudging nod.

Mr Garvey came to the center of the room and sat down, with the security chief behind him. "Kurt, in your own words, please tell us what happened."

_Here goes. _"I was in the dance studio and Karofsky, Dave Karofsky, came in. I asked him what he wanted and he said that he'd made some kind of school spirit sort of boast that he'd bring me back to see the final game of the season, a kind of 'up yours' to Dalton." Kurt didn't want to look too closely to see how Karofsky was reacting, for fear of giving something away. "I didn't think it was a good idea and, well, Dave kind of lost his temper and started to shove me around, said that I was a wimp, that sort of thing. I yelled back that I wasn't going to put myself at risk for his stupid boast and then the shoving got intense, so I shouted for help. Jim came in and then I don't remember the other student's name, and then pretty much everybody was there." The last point was so extraordinary to him that he repeated it. "Everybody in earshot came to help and then it was over."

The Associate Dean finished writing some notes, as did the campus security chief. "Do you have anything to add?" he asked, looking at Dave. "You seem to have had this all planned out very thoroughly. How did you get the truck?"

Karofsky shrugged. "I hotwired it, all the rest of the stuff was in the back. It happened like he said."

Mr. Garvey looked at Kurt and Jim. "Do either of you want to press charges?" Jim shook his head and Kurt hesitated. "Kurt, a word," Sue said, getting up and gesturing to the other corner. Blaine got up to come with them and Will and she shoved him back down into his seat. Kurt almost would have laughed at how astonished Blaine looked. Even David's lips twitched for an instant before he leaned over and said something to his fellow Warbler.

"Porcelain, under any other circumstances, I'd say press charges. The problem is, the courts don't really care about this kind of thing—you're not a blonde white girl and you don't have any clout—and you didn't get badly hurt. You can prove assault but it'd be a technicality and they'd treat it like that.

"You do have leverage now, though. Even a charge that gets thrown out or given a slap on the hand is a big deal when it comes to colleges and scholarships and so on. Karofsky's good at sports, enough to get the scholarships, but not enough to get the schools bending over backwards to accept him after something like this."

"So what do you suggest I do, then? I can't...I can't go back to McKinley with him there, I can't."

Sue smiled viciously. "Exactly. You won't press charges if he agrees to leave McKinley and never come back, and never to come near you or anybody you know ever again. The statute of limitations lasts long enough that you'll be long out of Lima before you lose your chance to press charges."

Mr. Schue sighed and passed his hand through his hair. "Kurt, I have to say that sounds like a good idea. You should add to the agreement that if he ever incites anybody to cause you any problems, ever, that's the same as if he came near you."

"Good thinking, William," Sue said, looking remarkably surprised and proud, like a parent watching a child they hadn't realized was precocious give a first ballet recital. Kurt couldn't help but imagine Sue making a little baby album, with a special page for Baby's First Blackmail. Maybe the image was so vivid because she already had? Not a thought he wanted to pursue. Nor did he want to follow the next thought, one of Sue calling Will, just like the Emperor, her young apprentice. Especially not that they were _dating_, or whatever you could call it...

"Is there anything we're missing, Kurt?" Mr. Schue had put a light hand on his arm to get his attention back. He lowered his voice. "You've not wanted anybody to visit before...you said that it was because it would make missing everything that much harder, was there any other reason, now that we're here?"

Kurt shook his head and closed his eyes against the sudden rush of tears that came at the kind, concerned voice and affectionate, undemanding touch. "No, it's just that." He saw that Mr Schue wasn't sure what to do next and solved the problem himself by reaching out and hugging him. Sue put her hand on his shoulder as if she was about half positive that it was going to explode, and actually put her other arm around Mr Schue. It felt bizarre, but it also felt just a bit like a family hug.

Kurt stepped out of it first, turning to look at the Karofskys, and Sue raised an eyebrow. When he nodded, she said, very clearly and loudly. "Kurt isn't going to press charges," she paused for dramatic effect and Kurt saw how Karofsky's father seemed to collapse with relief. "Provided, provided that _you_ leave McKinley for good, that you never come near Kurt or anybody close to him ever again, and that you make sure that everybody close to you knows that he's off limits from any kind of revenge attack." She strode over to Karofsky. "And just in case it's hard to tell a revenge attack from ordinary bullying, that had better mean that nobody raises a finger or a voice or a gesture to him, _ever_."

Kurt stole a glance at Blaine. He'd been avoiding that, especially since he'd made the conscious decision not to let Blaine have any charge of _this _decision in his life. But having Mr. Schue and Sue there made a difference, gave him more perspective. Sometimes he couldn't raise his eyes to the horizon beyond the next few days or weeks or the remaining months.

Blaine looked furious, but when his eyes met Kurt's, they softened and he sent Kurt what was clearly meant as a reassuring smile. Kurt felt another of the knots in his guts melt in relief.

Mr Karofsky was squeezing his hat in his hands. "Dave, that's very reasonable." Sue added, "I'm having an attorney write up the conditions exactly, and they will include your confession."

"Yeah, sure, fine." Karofsky was staring at the ground.

The Associate Dean cleared his throat. "In this case, we'll not press trespassing charges. However, we will not tolerate any further incidents."

"Come on, son." Mr Karofsky led a sullen Dave outside. After a moment, he hesitated and then returned, walking up to Kurt as if expecting to be rebuffed.

"Kurt, I don't think I'll ever know exactly what happened, but from what Dave said earlier, I have the impression that you were being generous." Kurt didn't know what to say, so simply waited for him to continue. "I'm grateful and if you ever need a favor, you only have to ask." Kurt nodded faintly and watched as Dave's father returned to the care and drove away. Dave didn't look back and Kurt hoped that was a good sign.

Kurt could see how much Sue was itching to let Blaine have it, verbally and probably physically. He also knew that she was holding back for his sake. That touched him more than he ever would have thought possible and he hugged her, to what was apparently gratified discomfort. Mr. Schue held him tight, looked in his face, and hugged him again. "If there's anything you need..."

"I know. Thanks." Kurt wasn't delighted that Blaine came up to him and put his arm around his waist the moment that Will and Sue were back in the car and that Blaine actually waved, as if he were an acknowledged and loved boyfriend. But his overwhelming relief was enough to make even that seem inconsequential.

Then Blaine stepped to face him and took Kurt's chin in his hand. "I think there's something else that happened that you didn't talk about." His tone was neutral, as was his hold, but Kurt was very thankful indeed that he'd anticipated something like this.

"It's that obvious, huh?" He looked up as if he was gathering his thoughts. "He also said a lot of things, he's one of the most bigoted homophobes in the school, but since that wasn't the issue here, and frankly I didn't want to have to discuss it any more and see people's faces look as though they don't see what the big deal is."

"Kurt...you know that here it _is_ a big deal." Blaine looked earnest and concerned and David came up.

"I know, yes, it's not tolerated here, but, look, can't we just let it go, now that he is off my back?"

David broke in before Blaine could speak. "Blaine, if we let you get started on another stump speech, we're all going to miss dinner, and that's apocalyptic, as far as I'm concerned. Kurt's safe and nobody's hurt and that's the important thing." Blaine looked dour for a moment before grinning again and Kurt almost would have sworn that David winked at him.

Kurt was ready to knock his solo so hard that it would hit next year's Fashion Week. The Warblers were performing throughout the Donors Dinner, an event to thank donors from the classes of the 1940s through the 1980s, and had picked a song from each decade. Kurt would solo in "Cry me a river," from the 1950s. The lines were perfect for his voice and the Warblers' harmonies below were a rich supplement, a little more intricate than most settings but drawing more, rather than less attention to the top solo line.

The audience showed enthusiastic appreciation the opening number, "All the things you are," with Raj singing the solo. Kurt was delighted that they'd actually stopped conversations to listen, that their performance wasn't just background music between dishes. The moment Wes had stepped out to introduce Raj as the soloist, adding a few jokes that this week, Raj's plans were to go to Yale and major in history, but last week, it was the University of Chicago and anthropology, and the week before, he was still more or less set on being a fireman or maybe an astronaut, they were paying attention.

His turn was coming up next. Wes grinned at him and took the microphone. "Our next soloist, Kurt, is here as our Trophy from McKinley, in Lima." There was a spurt of applause. "Once you've heard Kurt sing, you'll be very proud indeed that we were able to beat a team like his. Kurt, take it away."

Kurt's throat had gone dry but he automatically used the old trick of chewing the tip of his tongue for an instant to get moisture back. He could tell that he was singing the solo only because he could hear his voice, sounding as clear and solid as it had in rehearsals. He didn't have to move much—there wasn't the room for dancing—which was just as well because he felt frozen in place.


	15. Chapter 15

The Warblers finished the representative song from the 1960s, "Ain't no mountain high enough," in which David took the solo. Sure enough, Wes had introduced him as a senior who had been accepted early decision to Williams, where he was going to study international economic development, and added a joke about how David was going to raise the bar from "one laptop per child" to "one Mitrel-chip laptop per man, woman, and child," Mitrel being the company his father had founded.

After the first three songs, there was a break for the singers while the Financial Development director gave a presentation on progress towards doubling the endowment. Kurt extricated himself from the group as quickly as he could and looked for another bathroom further down the hall, where he could be alone for a few minutes. He found it and sat down on the small bench inside.

_It doesn't matter_, he reminded himself bleakly. _It doesn't matter and you don't care_. _So why did it sting so much, why was it such a slap in the face? _He asked the logical part of his brain the question and didn't get an answer.

The door opened with a creak and somebody turned the lights on. He scrambled to his feet and saw a puzzled David. "Kurt? Why were you sitting here in the dark? You did great, everybody was very impressed."

"Kurt? That's my name, not 'Trophy'? I never would have guessed." He hadn't meant to let it out, but now that he was spilling his guts, David's look of incomprehension made it even harder to keep his facade up, and it didn't even seem that much worth the bother. "You didn't notice? Everybody else was introduced as a person, me, I was introduced as your Trophy." He laughed shortly and without amusement. "I'm surprised that Wes mentioned even part of my name and didn't just call me a conversation piece."

David held up a hand while he seemed to be thinking for a moment. "All right, I can see that you're upset. It was insensitive of Wes and I'll have a word with him, but it wasn't intentional."

Kurt felt his anger disappearing, but replaced with more of the same desolation as before. "I know it wasn't intentional. And please, don't talk to him about it."

"Why not? I'm sure that he'd apologize that it was tactless."

Kurt sighed. "Yes...but it wouldn't mean anything. It's done and I just want to forget it. If you hadn't come in, I never would have said anything."

"Look, Kurt, I understand that it wasn't pleasant for you." David actually looked perturbed.

"Please. Just forget it." Kurt washed his hands and walked out, holding his head high and fixing his usual quarter-smile firmly on his lips.

The rest of the evening was fortunately uneventful since Kurt didn't think that he could stand anything else. He occasionally saw David looking at him thoughtfully but at least he didn't say anything or do anything, beyond a quick clap on the shoulder and "You did a great job" when Blaine and Kurt split off for their dorm during the walk back.

"Anything wrong?" Blaine asked. "You're being very quiet." He stopped and faced Kurt, tracing his lips with a finger.

Kurt shook his head. "Just a little tired."

Blaine stepped closer and murmured in his ear, "Early to bed, then." He chuckled and took one of Kurt's hands to briefly lick across the back of his knuckles. "The next half of the proverb _is_ 'Early to rise' and I know I can provide that part." He moved in for a kiss, stroking Kurt's tongue with his own and pressing against him. When he pulled back, he was smiling with heavy lids as though he was already sated. "There is one thing that I need to tell you. When we were onstage, I was looking at you, how your hair picked up the light, how sleek you looked, how gorgeous...and I realized how much I love you."

Kurt looked at him in consternation, not having the least idea how to respond. In a flash he realized that he'd rather endure almost anything rather than lie and say that he loved Blaine. But at the same time, Blaine put a light finger on his mouth. "No, no, I'm not going to ask you to say anything. I only want you to know that I love you."

_No, you don't_, Kurt thought. _No, you don't_.

* * *

The next afternoon, Kurt asked, "What's David's girlfriend like?" as he held up two sets of streamer ribbons. The decorations were based on David's tastes since it was his birthday and none of them knew her very well, but before he used any more of the decorating budget, he wanted to make sure that there wouldn't be any terrible mismatches.

Blaine considered for a moment. "Well, Lynne's very friendly...lively, pretty, she's blonde with blue eyes, very athletic..."

"You don't like her much, do you?" Kurt felt safe enough asking that, by the way that Blaine's eyes were wandering the room as if he were looking for something else nice to say about her.

Blaine burst out laughing. "It shows that much, hmm? Well, not that I was really hiding it, I trust you not to go around saying it." He sobered up. "I don't like her and it's honestly not that I have unrealistic standards for David's girlfriends. She's all so very friendly on the surface, but underneath, it's all about Lynne. Raj's sister goes to her school and says that she is absolutely a control freak and if she doesn't like somebody, she makes sure that they don't socially exist. Maybe it's not fair to judge her since of course that's just one side of the story, but I could believe it."

"That's too bad."

"It really is. He truly deserves the best and I don't like suspecting that if he's ever inconvenient or says something that she doesn't like, she'd dump him faster than the speed of light." Blaine picked up his Kindle again, saying, optimistically, "Maybe I'm wrong though. I hope it's only that he sees something in her that we can't."

"We?"

Blaine smiled sheepishly. "Yeah...Raj doesn't think much of her, of course, and Andreas thinks she was really giving him the eye when somebody joked that his middle name was Mars for the candy company family and not because his parents are a bit goofy about space exploration."

"His middle name is _really_ Mars?"

"I couldn't make that up. But at least it's not his first name."

"Do I want to know if he has brothers or sisters and what their middle names are?"

"His older brother got Jupiter and his sister's middle name is Venus."

"It could be worse."

"Yeah, there's that one planet in particular. Or Pluto, that would be bad, to have your middle name recalled." Blaine got up and stretched. "But to get back to the original issue, she _always_ wears a little black dress, so that will be perfect." He raised his head to check his watch. "Finally, it's 3:00 California time." It was Marcus' birthday and Blaine had been fidgety all day to call him.

"Hi, Marcus, happy birthday!"

"Did you get the books?"

"I picked them all from my own favorites."

"I really want to hear how you like _The Lord of the Rings_."

"Oh, you'd already read _Seabiscuit_? Did you like it?"

"Yeah, you really shouldn't get homework on your birthday."

"Well, happy birthday, Marcus, I can't wait to see you at Easter."

"Bye."

Blaine hung up and put the phone down very gently, as if it were a small living creature. The broad smile on his face had almost entirely faded and he looked down for a few moments as if lost in thoughts or memories, then sighed very slightly. Kurt realized that this was one of the very few times since his arrival that Blaine had been entirely oblivious to him, didn't seem to be at all attuned to his presence or alert to a potential word or movement. He welcomed it but at the same time it was disquieting, as though Blaine was somehow absent while still physically there.

He flipped open his world history book since he wanted to be sure not to let himself get behind for the next school term. He'd had just enough time to get into the leadup to World War One when Blaine silently came up behind him, spun the chair so that Kurt was facing him, and pulled him to his feet and into an avid, greedy kiss. When Blaine broke off the kiss, he kissed down to the base of his throat, pausing to murmur, "You're mine" as he started to undo his shirt.

* * *

"Well, thanks for trying, Jaime. I appreciate it." Will hung up, disappointed. His father's friend hadn't found anything potentially useful in the police records that he was able to access. Dalton's administration was clean, the Warblers were clean, and there weren't even any suggestions that anything was too clean or that anything had been hushed up. There was a DUI for one student and a few 911 calls made by a neighbor over potential domestic violence for another family, but no smoking gun. Not even any smoke.

At least McKinley would be safe for Kurt to come back to. Dave Karofsky had kept his word about transferring. Will had been surprised to see that when he came for his last day, he looked almost relieved, as though somehow the worst had happened and he found himself still standing. Will couldn't help but wonder if there was something else going on, but assumed that if there was something Kurt wanted him to know, he'd tell him or get word to him.

He was more concerned about Finn. He'd noticed circles under his eyes that hadn't gotten any better over time and that he was generally dragging, except for an almost feverish intensity when he was singing. Will had asked him several times, more pointedly each instance, if he was ill or if he needed to talk. The last time, at least, Finn had admitted that he wasn't sleeping well and agreed to come by his office during study hall.

"Hey, Mr. Schue."

"Come on in, Finn, have a seat."

Finn was fidgeting and Will decided to get straight to the point. "What can I do to help you?" He wasn't sure that it was the right question to ask, but it was what he needed to know.

Finn smiled bitterly, an expression that looked all too wrong on his face. "I don't think you can do anything." Will kept quiet and Finn continued, "You know, when his dad was dying, Kurt just kept on fighting and fighting. He wasn't going to give up or give in an inch." He laughed shortly. "If death were a person, he never would have dared to come within a yard of Burt. He was just like this little snarling dog in the hospital, he mortgaged the house, argued with everybody to try to get him the transplant, got some of the doctors to agree to help for free, even. But Burt still died."

Finn looked at Will with absolute terror in his eyes. "I always thought that if you fight hard enough, you win, that good things will happen. But they don't. His dad died, he lost every penny his parents saved, and now he's...there, he's the Trophy, and that's partly my fault, what if there are people that just don't win, ever? They just keep fighting and they lose. What if that's going to happen to me, too, or any of us? Kurt looked like he was going places and then all this, and what if Rachel is the next one that just gets squashed?" To Will's dismay, he looked at him as though he expected answers.

"Finn, I don't know." Finn turned away slightly, like a disappointed child, and it caught at Will's heart. "Nobody has a perfect reason for why things happen to good people or even why they happen at all. And I'm scared, too. I'm scared for each and every one of you and for myself, too.

"You guys have had to grow up so fast and so hard. Even if some of you have had pretty easy lives so far, you have to deal with what's sometimes harder, seeing somebody you care about going through hell. But the one thing I do see in all of you is that you're going to come out of this absolutely awesome. Maybe you'll be able to make things change in a way that we didn't when we were your age. I can't say that you _will _because I just don't know that. But I know that you're going to care and that you're going to fight."

Finn looked a bit comforted, but admitted, "Sometimes I want to give up. Sometimes I have a nightmare, a really bad one, they're hurting Kurt and he's screaming for help but I can't move, or somebody's dragging Rachel away and I can't reach her, and when I wake up, I just want to stay in bed all day, to hide under the covers and stay there, even if it's morning."

"But you do get up."

"Well, yeah, but..."

"And you shower and get dressed and brush your teeth and come to school." Finn nodded. "And you come to Glee. I think that's where having routines helps us, that and knowing that maybe we're that bit of strength that another person needs."

"I guess so."

"So do I, Finn." He paused. "Oh, and Finn? Give me 30 pushups."

* * *

Sue barked at Quinn, "Well, all you're doing there in my doorway is blocking the light. Come in or leave but don't stand in the middle." _Sue Sylvester does not tolerate half-measures._

Quinn came in and sat down. "I suppose you want to 'talk'," Sue commented, making air quotes around the word. Quinn nodded and Sue leaned back. "Well, then, talk."

Quinn opened her mouth but nothing came out. Sue decided that she needed some coaching. "Did you forget how to talk?"

"My parents say that Kurt deserves what's happening to him."

"I'm not surprised. So why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know what to say to them."

"How about that they're full of crap? They open their mouths and it's like a crap explosion? That if they opened their minds, which sounds like it's impossible, that the crap coming out would make Lima the bullshit capital of the world, even more than Washington, New York, or Geneva, Switzerland?" Sue fixed her with a stare. "That seems pretty straightforward to me."

"I can't say that to them!"

"Do you think it's true?"

"Well..."

"Do you think he deserves what's happening to him, and I'm guessing that they mean it's because he's gay, not because he uses as much moisturizer as Will Schuester uses hair gel and that it makes him look like a wet sponge with human skin superimposed on it? Does he deserve it?"

"No, no, he doesn't!"

"Does it bother you when your parents say he deserves it?"

"Yes!"

Sue wished for a moment that she could meet her intellectual equal, but reminded herself that it was a source of pride for her that she had none, with the possible exception of Stephen Hawking, and she had the hack codes to his wheelchair so she was undisputed victor there. "Do you want them to stop?"

"Yes, they're just...gloating over it. They pretend that they aren't but they are. And they know it hurts me but they keep doing it."

"So, your parents are bullies. You've been one, you should know them. So what works against bullies?"

"Ignoring them or slapping them down. But being consistent each time so they don't get intermittent rewards."

"Oh, so you were paying attention when I told you that. I usually can't tell if you're listening or if you're thinking about chewing some cud." Sue felt a dart of pride when Quinn ignored it, as she ignored all of Sue's recent barbs. "So what do you think you're going to do."

"I'm going to tell them that they're wrong and that they shouldn't enjoy another person's unhappiness." Quinn looked proud of herself and Sue got up.

"That's telling them." She paused. "Oh, and Quinn? If you insist, I'll say that you're doing the right thing and look as though I wouldn't be repulsed by hugging you."


	16. Chapter 16

"It's a Warbler tradition," Raj explained. "Every year somebody smuggles out the syllabus-"

"Even though we have three members in the class who could just tell us, but what's the fun in that?" Wes added.

"And we lay our plan for the appropriate day." Raj nodded smugly. "By now, we don't even get more than a slap on the wrist for skipping our classes that period."

Tony looked up from his laptop, where he was taking one last look at the new arrangements. "We're honor-bound not to use the same harmonies two years in a row."

"Or the same poems."

"But fortunately, she wrote a lot of them."

"With the same meters."

"It's spooky the way you all finish one another's thoughts," Kurt commented, dryly.

Blaine laughed and ran a finger along the base of Kurt's hairline. "We think of it as closely-bonded."

"Speaking of closely-bonded, Blaine, since this will be a public performance, we're going to request that you kindly do not grab or ogle any part of Kurt _too_ blatantly, especially his ass." Kurt felt a surge of resentment at Wes' thoroughly-amused request and the quiet laughs from other Warblers.

Tony passed out the printouts of his arrangements. "You all know the tune, I'm sure." After a few slip-ups in the new harmonies, the Warblers went on the annual mission.

* * *

Somebody must have warned Ms. Barber. Even though it was her first year teaching American literature at Dalton, she was prepared and had a big Emily Dickinson face, with fangs, facing outwards on the door. "Gentlemen, I believe we are expected," David said with a dramatic flourish, and the Warblers invaded the classroom.

"Ah, yes," Ms. Barber said with a deeply blasé air. "I believe these young men have something to explain about ballad meter."

The singers launched into the musical arrangement of Dickinson's "Success is counted sweetest," starting in unison and then spreading into the major intervals until they were singing an octave apart.

"Success is counted sweetest  
By those who ne'er succeed  
To comprehend a nectar  
Requires sorest need

Not one of all the purple host  
Who took the flag today  
Can tell the definition  
So clear, of victory

As he defeated, dying  
On whose forbidden ear  
The hidden strains of triumph  
Break agonized and clear"

The students in the classroom first looked puzzled but then soon started laughing at the realization that the Emily Dickinson poem can be sung perfectly to the tune of "Gilligan's Island."

"In case you were thinking that this is a one-off," Blaine announced, "We have another for you."

"I never hear the word 'escape'  
Without a quicker blood  
A sudden expectation  
A flying attitude

I never hear of prisons broad  
By soldiers battered down  
But I tug childish at my bars,-  
Only to fail again!"

Ms Barber led a brief round of applause and added, "As you can see, ballad meter is another example of iambs, which also echoes normal patterns of speech, which is why it sounds so natural. Thank you, Warblers. Those of you who belong in this class, against my better judgment I'm going to tell you to stay, the rest of you, go back to infesting your regular classes like the locusts that you are." Her friendly grin made her actual enjoyment of the visit clear.

The Warblers agreed that it was far too late in the period to go back to their normally scheduled class and the only option was to grab some coffee until the next period began. Kurt was comparing their reception at Dalton to the response a similar stunt at McKinley would have gotten. Overt boredom or taunts from the kids and at best "at least they aren't breaking things" resignation from the teachers. Blaine nudged him. "What are you thinking about?"

"Dalton really is different from McKinley."

"Yeah, when I first got here, I couldn't believe the difference." After a few more minutes chatting, he and the rest got up to go to their next class. Blaine kissed Kurt lightly. "See you this afternoon." He nodded significantly, which reminded Kurt that the Warblers whose attitude towards food was "it's there, I'll eat it" were going to hang out with David elsewhere while the ones who actually had opinions were going to pick out a menu for his party. They had told him that for the party they'd just order a few pizzas or something, not mentioning that they'd be going all out with catering from the best Italian place within 50 miles. "Technically, it's still 'a few pizzas or something,'" Wes had noted.

* * *

David couldn't get to sleep right away that night. Lynne was coming in three days and the waiting was almost more than he could take, except that it was also so hot, in its own frustrating way. They talked every night and told each other exactly what they were going to do together once she was there and how it was going to feel.

He was so lucky, he thought to himself again. He was crazy in love with an incredibly beautiful and sweet girl, who actually happened to love him back. He'd been accepted to his first choice college. But what was still most amazing is that Lynne loved him back. He knew that she could have her pick of guys, just from the way he saw others look at her when they were out together and even more from the little things that happened to drop when they were talking. But she'd picked him.

He also loved it that his friends liked her, too. Well, Raj knew her through his sister, so that made sense, but the others didn't. He was fairly sure that at first they liked her for his sake, but now they liked her for her own. Well, who wouldn't, not when she was so friendly and lively and open?

Oddly enough, he thought that only Blaine would be the one who could really understand how he was feeling. It made him feel almost, well, maybe reverent wasn't too strong a word, to watch Blaine with Kurt. He identified each time Blaine drew Kurt closer, the way Blaine looked at Kurt as though his entire heart and mind were wrapped up in the other boy, and that his body was following his heart and mind, not the other way around. It was a long way from Blaine's earlier, cheerful friends-with-benefits relationships from before.

David was relieved that he'd gotten to like Kurt. He wasn't sure about him at first—in fact, Kurt mostly reminded him of one of those miniature poodles, all grooming and a high-pitched voice that occasionally yapped. On his second day, David had offered to get him a Dalton blazer so that he wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb, but Kurt had looked at him strangely and turned him down, saying that he didn't want one, thanks, that he much preferred wearing his own clothing. It seemed such a cocky, stand-offish, and simultaneously look-at-me thing that David was pretty ticked at him. The Dalton blazer was a privilege that a lot of kids would want, and Kurt was acting like he was too good for it.

The turning point was about clothing, too, whatever that might mean, When Blaine had said that he had to insist that Kurt accept the designer clothes that Blaine had picked out for him, that Kurt was genuinely reluctant to take them, David started to feel some respect for him then, and even more when that Neandertal showed up. Kurt had been scared but had shown some real dignity there. He had the same dignity when Wes had been a bit thoughtless about introducing him; he'd not demanded any attention or apologies but he had shown some pride.

David had also started to enjoy his sardonic sense of humor, the dry observations, and appreciated Kurt's genuine love of music and singing. His singing was even starting to drop the mannerisms and become even more real and open and sincere, and David thoroughly enjoyed listening to him. It was a relief to be able to like Kurt, when Blaine was so crazy about him. David wondered if the Warblers felt the same kind of relief that Lynne was so likeable, though the situation wasn't the same since they didn't have to spend time with her nearly every day and she was incapable of rubbing anybody the wrong way. Well, sometimes David did go on a bit when talking about her, but that was different. She'd be there in three days, just three more days. David turned over again and this time, did drift off to sleep.

* * *

For Blaine, waking up around 03:00 used to open the door to dark thoughts. Even minor problems seemed to grow large and bad and anything major became tremendous weights with the power to crush him. He and Marcus would never be close again, his parents' indifference meant that if he ever ceased to be a credit to them, they would withdraw entirely, and while academically he was outstanding at Dalton, he'd be outclassed in college and then the real world. While part of him knew that 3:00 am was simply a bad time for the human metabolism cycles, somehow that knowledge never seemed to drive the thoughts away. Instead, they would engulf him and whisper that during the day, he was seeing through a filter of optimism and self-assurance because he couldn't handle reality.

But now, all he had to do was pay attention to his senses. His Kurt's smooth skin and firm limbs against him, the solidity of Kurt's head pillowed on his chest combined with the impossible softness of his hair, the soft sound of his breathing, and, in the dim light that penetrated from the window and the cracks around the door, the sight of Kurt's face. With his hair ruffled from the combination of Blaine's caresses and sleep, his eyes closed and without their sharpness, and his lips slightly parted, Kurt looked like some creature of extraordinary purity and vulnerability, come to rest in his arms and keep the dark thoughts at bay.

Blaine bent his head to very lightly kiss the top of Kurt's hair and delicately stroked his shoulder with just his thumb. Sometimes Kurt was awake, too, when he woke up like this, in which case Blaine never hesitated to pull him closer and build up to full possession, emptying and losing himself in Kurt, but if he was sleeping soundly, it was almost as good to hold him and enjoy the awareness of every point where their bodies touched, the little, restful sounds of his breathing, and the smell of his hair.

Knowing that the time Kurt would spend with him was limited but that time was guaranteed was a solid comfort. Nobody could simply step in and say that they'd be split up right then, and that there was no appeal. Not like it had been with Marcus, where their parents had decided to separate the brothers and take one each. He felt his hand tighten on Kurt's shoulder and he immediately loosened it. For his parents, they were assets to be divided equally, like a bank account. For the brothers, the other's presence and love had been a given, until it wasn't.

Maybe he shouldn't even think about it, should accept that Kurt would leave on the given day, but Blaine couldn't help thinking that perhaps it would be possible to keep Kurt at Dalton. He was safe from bullying, would be academically challenged but not overwhelmed, and as somebody without assets or connections in important places, having Dalton's name on his transcript would help him get into one of the right colleges with a scholarship, and later the Dalton network would help as well. Of course, Blaine meant to watch over Kurt as long as he needed it, and was thinking of ways to introduce Kurt to his parents and their friends as a potential asset to invest in with summer jobs or even a scholarship, but if Kurt were a Dalton alumnus, that would be even easier.

Right now, Kurt didn't have enough of a track record to merit outsider attention. Sure, his public school grades and extracurriculars were excellent, but there were thousands of kids like that. Blaine would have to fund Kurt's next year at Dalton himself, use his own considerable powers of persuasion to get Kurt a scholarship, or likely both. He was fairly certain that Kurt might be touchy about accepting help. But there had to be something he could do. He wanted his Kurt to have the benefits he deserved and he himself wanted Kurt around longer. If Kurt weren't so proud, it would be the easiest transaction in the world—stay with me and I'll pay for Dalton for you—but then if Kurt weren't so proud, he wouldn't be Kurt.

Blaine brushed his lips again over Kurt's soft hair. Ever since he and Marcus had been separated, he'd been determined to make sure that he would never again, under any circumstances, lose what he had his heart set on. He'd worked on developing persuasive charm, on learning where to find and exploit weak spots, to assess situations immediately, and on understanding how alliances and even enmity work. If there was a way to keep Kurt at Dalton, he'd find it. He wouldn't let himself think about keeping Kurt with him, but if a successful plan could allow that, so much the better.

* * *

Sue woke up that morning and seeing that Will was still asleep, poked him in the chest. "Wake up. I want to talk about Glee."

"Whaa?" Will was disgustingly slow to wake up and be alert. While Sue Sylvester could be ready for action in 2.3 seconds, down from 4.5, he took actual minutes to come fully to his senses. Even after she'd pointed out exactly how many times she could have started dismembering him, all he said was that with luck, she wouldn't, and then started showing her exactly why she'd miss him if she did.

"I want to talk about Glee," she repeated, patiently. She might not have sounded patient, necessarily, but since she wasn't actually being verbally or physically violent, it counted. "Puck suggested a rematch."

That got Will sitting bolt upright. "That's crazy!"

"That's what I thought at first but then I thought maybe it's worth considering."

"And if we lose, then we have _two_ students in that, that situation."

"Yes, William, I can count." She pulled her legs up to her chest. "It wouldn't have to be just a singing competition. We are better dancers, especially now that I'm teaching them award-quality routines. If we can set up the rules to benefit us, with more than half the points on dancing and presentation, and Porcelain will give us whatever inside intelligence he can, the odds will be on our side."

"Sue...I know our kids. If the stakes are Kurt, plus potentially losing somebody else..."

"Yes, I know, they might freeze."

"I don't think Kurt would agree, in any case. For somebody who can be even more self-centered than the average teenager around the little things, in the big things, he tends to think of himself last."

She hated it when Will thought he had a point. "He wouldn't have to agree, Will."

"Suppose that we lose. Then he'd have to know that somebody else is a Trophy because of him."

Sue also hated it when Will actually had a point and even more when she had a point that went along with his. It felt as though part of her brain was a traitor and actually wanted hair gel and curls. "Dalton might not agree anyway, I reluctantly admit. We need to get Porcelain here for a debriefing session. I'll conduct the interrogation for usable intelligence."

Will actually groaned. "Sue, can't you just say that we should bring him for a visit and talk?"

"Not at all, William, not at all." She got up. "Now get in the shower with me, strategy planning always makes me horny. That's why I never joined any Presidential administration. Can you imagine feeling the urge and being around the Joint Chiefs of Staff or the Cabinet?"

Will had to admit that he couldn't.

* * *

AN:

The Gilligan's Island theme also works for "Amazing Grace." I learned this in a Galway, Ireland bar. At a wake. Yes, the guy we were mourning would have loved it both when we sang the original and the variation.

Hamza plays a role next chapter—this chapter veered slightly from where I planned it.


	17. Chapter 17

Hamza was passing the student lounge and noticed that Kurt was sitting at a table, looking down at something with an expression of intense frustration. He truly disliked being reminded of why and how Kurt was at Dalton and feared that might be the cause of his glower, so he hesitated, but went in.

"What's wrong, Kurt?"

Kurt looked up, startled, and laughed shortly. "Just about everything to do with balancing equations," he explained, indicating an open chemistry textbook.

"Do you want me to take a look?"

"If you really want to..." Kurt sounded very dubious that anybody would want to do that, but aside from his relief at not having to deal with any other issue, Hamza actually quite liked wrestling chemical formulas into balance. He pulled up a chair.

"So what have we got here?"

"It's this one." Kurt pointed to C6H14 + O2 - CO2 + H2O . "I can get as far as here," he continued, pointing to his written C6H14 + O2 - 6 CO2 + 7 H2O, "but then I get stuck with the oxygen. There are two on that side and 19 on the other."

"You can balance it out with fractions."

"Really?"

"What, your book doesn't say so? That's unhelpful. So all you need to do is balance it out by 19/2, then multiply by 2 to get the whole numbers again, and now you've burnt your benzene."

Kurt scribbled the numbers and then looked up. "Hey, that does work."

"Would I mislead you about burning anything? I'll have you know that I am the chemistry lab Master of Fire." He raised his head proudly as if accepting the homage of a crowd of thousands. His accomplishments along those lines deserved recognition.

"Oh, really? You should meet Brittany, she managed to set solid _steel_ on fire in chem lab."

"A woman after my own heart. What did she coat it with?"

"Nothing. She managed to set uncoated steel on fire."

Hamza knew that this was technically impossible, so this meant that this Brittany had a superpower. Or Kurt was exaggerating, but he preferred the superpower explanation. "She is now officially the woman of my dreams. We could go hand in hand down the path of life, leaving a trail of embers behind us, and call it the scorching of our passion. If we use the occasional accelerant, that would be our little secret. Everywhere we go, they would call us the Combustible Couple." He sighed profoundly. "If I could sing, I would serenade her with 'Baby, light my fire.'"

Kurt was snickering, which pleased Hamza inordinately. His duty as an observant Muslim was to comfort the prisoner and protect the orphan, and even if here he was limited to providing Kurt with a shoulder to cry on, some friendly words, and a few laughs, it felt good to be able to help, especially since he quite liked the gutsy, funny boy for his own sake. Not being able to help more bothered him, but he had no idea how or what to do, except to make Kurt understand that he would do whatever was in his power. He put his hand on Kurt's shoulder. "If you ever need more help with this, or with anything, you know that all you have to do is let me know, right?"

Kurt looked surprised at how serious his tone was, but seemed to understand. "I do. Thanks."

After a brief, companionable silence, Hamza got up. "I think my blood-caffeine level is below 30 percent and that must be stopped. Do you want any?"

"I don't think I've ever turned coffee down."

"A wise man."

Kurt pulled up some pictures of the Glee Club on his phone to point out Brittany. Hamza pointed at Mercedes. "This lady is also the woman of my dreams." At Kurt's look, he added, in a tone of wounded innocence, "Can't a man have many dreams?"

"That's Mercedes, she's my closest friend." Hamza could barely hear Kurt's little sigh. "She's funny and loud and strong and loves getting her shopping on." Hamza was about to ask the question that had bothered him for some time, why nobody had come to visit Kurt, when the smell of chlorine mixed with the smell of coffee.

"Hey," Blaine greeted Hamza, then kissed Kurt on the mouth and slipped his arm around his waist. "I've just got to go shower, something went wrong with the water heater for the showers at the pool. Swim team was not happy." Hamza was relieved that Blaine truly seemed to have gotten over his quick jealousy, though he wasn't how much of that was because Blaine knew that he simply wasn't interested in Kurt. At any rate, it had to make things a little easier.

* * *

Raj had told Dave that he wouldn't be able to make it to the party tomorrow night and took him out for dinner that night, to give the Warblers time to finish the last-minute arrangements over dinner. Andreas claimed that he checked the dining hall for bugs, Wes was persuaded not to check everybody's fingerprints for identity verification, and Blaine reported that he had done a perimeter check and secured the area.

Lynne was going to rent a car at the airport and drive in, since it was still classtime when her flight would land and David had an important exam that period. She'd insisted that they not pick her up, that she'd prefer to drive. She should get to the campus no later than 6:00.

Naturally, most of the discussion was about the set list. One of the songs would of course be Happy Birthday, done in Warbler tradition in a variety of styles, and Wes and Blaine went back and forth on the best order. When Peter pointed out at one moment that they had just switched positions and were still arguing, Blaine looked slightly sheepish but pointed out, "It's David's birthday, it can't be perfect enough. Which is why we should do tango style first."

"They're incorrigible," Andreas groaned. "Let's just hope that David doesn't pop the question, or they'll end up planning music for the engagement party, the bachelor's party, the wedding, the reception..."

"You don't think he really would?" Peter looked aghast and the others looked shocked at the idea, too.

"Nah, he's got too much sense to actually do that at 18, they aren't going to the same college or anything, but I bet you _anything_ he's thought about it. He's crazy in love."

"Nobody's taking you on that one, I notice," Wes commented, looking around the table.

"I might, at 29:1, for a stake of $50, if I were allowed an indirect question to David that this table would judge fair," Peter said, thoughtfully, after scribbling on a napkin.

"Come on, guys, we are not betting on David's love life," Blaine protested, but laughing.

"Fine, then, destroy my career as a professional gambler before I even get to begin." Peter elaborately slouched and pouted, as the others immediately chimed in with "awwwwwwww" and "poor baby."

"Wes, shall we settle our mortal dispute in the time-honored fashion of swords or pistols at dawn or by a coin flip?"

"I say a coin flip, but only because of having to get up so early."

Blaine pulled out a coin. "Heads, tango first, tails, Gilbert and Sullivan first." He flipped the coin and groaned. "Tails. Wes, you win."

"Well, that _was_ your original position."

* * *

David came into the practice room at 5:00, looking worried. "Did Lynne maybe call or text any of you that her plane landed? She was going to let me know but I did have my phone off during class. Raj, she has your number, Wes, I think she might have yours, too. Her phone just goes to voicemail."

The others looked up from books, laptops, or music. "No, haven't heard from her," Raj said, and Wes shook his head.

"Maybe her battery is dead," Blaine suggested. "Did you see if her flight is on-time?"

"It landed a few minutes ahead of schedule."

"So then she's already on her way," Wes declared. "It's just a dead battery, I'm sure."

Kurt felt sorry for David's anxiety, secretly identifying with the romantic in him that lit up at even a word that sounded like "Lynne" and, as Wes had once reported, kissed her photograph good night when he thought his roommate wasn't looking. His parents had been just as much in love and while he wasn't aware of it as such at the time, had never let a day go by without showing each other their love. His father and Carole had been the same way, and he'd resolved that one day, he'd love somebody like that who would love him just as much. Even after this, he would still have his happily ever after, somehow, with somebody.

David was fidgeting but occasionally laughing at his own nervousness, and the other Warblers were teasing him gently, joking about what he'd be like as a father when his daughter is out on a first date. At 5:45, his phone rang and he grabbed it. "Hello?"

"Geeti? Have you heard-"

"What?" He sat down heavily. "She's not..." The others gathered around, concerned at his stricken voice and slump. "Why...why isn't she..."

"You're joking, right? You're both pulling my leg." His attempt at a laugh was one of the saddest things Kurt had ever heard.

"She wouldn't even tell me herself? And not until she should have been here?" He was wiping his eyes with one hand.

"No, no, I'm sure you didn't know."

"Did she even say why?"

"But she said she was proud that I..."

"Yeah..."

"Thanks, Geeti...I...I do appreciate it..." David put the phone down, rested his head on the table, and shook, crying, for several minutes. Blaine quietly rubbed his back and Wes was gripping his hand. There were tears in his eyes as well, though Kurt suspected they were tears of anger as much, or more than, of sympathy. David finally raised his head.

"She's not coming. She dumped me. That's why she wasn't answering. She wouldn't even tell me herself."

"Why?" Raj demanded.

David smiled bitterly. "She didn't like my choice of interests. International development is apparently pointless and deadend, and I guess I am, too. She made her mind up today."

"But she was the one who said she was so proud of you for being interested in it."

"That was before I decided to follow up and do something with it."

"Well, at least you're well rid of her," Wes spat out.

David raised a hand. "Thanks, but...that's not what I need to hear right now..." He looked around at the sad, sympathetic, or indignant faces and apparently didn't see what he was looking for. "Thanks so much, guys, for everything, but now, I think I need to be alone for a bit."

"Wait, David, let somebody at least keep you company!" Blaine sounded desperate and David must have understood his reasons before the idea dawned on Kurt.

"No, I'm not going to do anything...stupid." He looked around again. "I wouldn't do that to my parents and I wouldn't do it to you, either." He sighed and wiped his eyes again, then looked around the room. "You guys are the best friends I could ever imagine. In fact, I think once I'm over this, I'm still going to think that I'm a very lucky man, because I've got all of you. But right now, I just really need to be alone." He was out the door and closed it behind him before any of them could react.

Wes growled, "If I ever get my hands on that _bitch_!"

"Yeah, who the hell does something like that!" Peter looked murderous as well.

"I can't believe she had the nerve to have somebody else tell him." Andreas shook his head, still in shock.

"Oh, I would," Raj ground out. "She probably _made _my sister do it in her manipulative little way." He mimicked, "Of course, Geeti, you don't _have _to do it, I'll just ask one of my sycophants to clean up this unfortunate little mess. She won't know David, but that won't really matter, will it? Oh, and it's not my fault at all, if he hadn't broken my trust and done something he should have known I wouldn't like, this all wouldn't have happened." He stopped the sickly-sweet cooing. "I bet that's exactly what happened. What a poisonous little bitch."

"I'm sure she only delayed this long because she wanted to get some other poor bastard lined up. After all, a devoted boyfriend is such an important accessory." The others nodded to Peter's remark in shared disgust.

Wes shook his head as if he was trying to scatter thoughts. "I don't think he's going anywhere near the party room tonight, but let's clean it up just in case. I don't want him to see it."

"Oh, crap, the caterers are probably heading there now." Andreas looked around. "What do we tell them? I don't think anybody really wants it after this."

"How about we ask them to put it all in doggie bags?" Raj laughed shortly. "I know she won't know, but I don't want that bitch to have the satisfaction of having it all go to waste for her sake."

Wes laughed shortly as well. "It's illogical, but you're right, that would feel wrong."

"Or maybe a shelter?" Blaine suggested. "David might like that idea."

"And she wouldn't," Wes added. "Brilliant."

"What about the presents? When should we give them to him?" Peter hesitated. "Or should we, even?"

"Let's play that by ear." Wes rubbed his forehead. "I can't even remember, was there any couple's stuff?"

"The silver picture frame is kind of couples," Peter said. "The rest is all college stuff."

"Okay, we can return that. Let's put all the rest in my room until we have a better sense of what's going on with him."

Blaine returned to his seat near Kurt, who had kept in the background. As the others slowly drifted out of the room, he shivered as if he were cold and muttered, "God, what a mess." Kurt turned to look at him and he grabbed Kurt's face between his hands and kissed him passionately and almost desperately, holding him so close that Kurt almost couldn't breathe. Blaine was breathless as well when the kiss ended, but said only, "We'd better go help them," and repeated, quietly, "God, what a mess."

* * *

AN: I think about two chapters to go. I'm going to be away from computer access (and time!) for a while, so it might be about a week, ten days before I update.

A huge, big, extra THANK YOU to everybody who's reviewed! They genuinely inspire me to write more and (I think) better.


	18. Chapter 18

The Warblers were very efficient in cleaning up the party room. The caterer was paid, tipped, and asked to deliver the food to a shelter. The decorations were taken down, pieces of tape removed from the wall, strings of lights coiled for later use, and the streamers and banner neatly deposited in the trash. The presents were piled with the large box on the bottom and the medium-sized ones on top of that, with the small ones and cards collected in a bag. Peter volunteered to help Wes carry them back to the dorm since the large box, containing a large down blanket, was rather unwieldy. Most of them didn't talk much, and when they did, it was in the hushed and faintly awkward way that those who escaped injury might talk at the scene of some disaster.

Kurt shook his head a little at the rapidity of the room's transformation, from festive to forlorn as its finery was partially stripped back to tidy polished wood. In a way, he felt truly sorry for David and even felt some respect for his successful fight for some dignity in the face of a vicious and humiliating blow. David certainly wasn't one to beg for pity or make himself out as a tragic victim. Part of Kurt, though, was also feeling some vindictive satisfaction that somebody who had at least agreed to the plot to entrap him was feeling wounded to the core, lost in uncharted terrain. He didn't feel any particular shame or pride in the feeling; he merely observed it.

He was also silently observing and trying to understand Blaine's reactions. He could recognize Blaine's fury at Lynne's callousness, especially because Blaine had exclaimed several times that he couldn't believe how somebody could be so unfeeling towards somebody who loved her so much. He also easily comprehended Blaine's frustration at his own impotence to help in any way that felt significant, his inability to take away any of the pain. But there were also elements that he couldn't put his finger on, sudden flashes of pensiveness. Knowing now Blaine's ability to plot and execute a plan, he thought to himself that Lynne might well find herself regretting what she'd done to Blaine's friend.

Kurt continued to observe as the Warblers started to break up, with hugs or long looks from those who didn't live in the same dorm, rather than the usual cheerful goodbyes or waves. Even that was like a cross between a funeral and the way disaster survivors behave, the awkwardness of staying together with nothing to say or do versus the desire not to be the first to actually leave.

Blaine came over and took his hand to leave. He sighed again and briefly rested his head on Kurt's shoulder. "I still can't believe it." Just inside the dorm building, Hamza, wearing a jacket and clearly leaving, eyed Blaine in surprise. "What's going on?" he asked, his eyes darting to Kurt to confirm that he was all right and that it was Blaine alone who was distraught.

Blaine stopped, his voice as full of venom as Wes' had been earlier. "David's rotten girlfriend. Instead of coming here for his 18th like she said she would, she had another girl call him up and say that she'd decided to dump him."

Hamza raised his eyebrows. "Rough."

"Unbelievable. I'm sure she got her claws into somebody richer and decided she'd trade up. That kind doesn't let go of a good thing unless she has something better lined up."

When Blaine didn't say anything else, Hamza continued to the door and then turned. "Kurt, I dug up my old textbooks. If you want them, don't let me forget to give them to you."

"Great, thanks." Hamza had talked with Kurt about the possibility of independently taking Advanced Placement tests, even when McKinley didn't offer the classes, in order to get college credit for his high school studies. He'd offered to share his old textbooks and email Kurt his notes so that Kurt could get a sense of the classes and what he'd need to pass. Blaine had enthusiastically supported the idea and had filed a petition with the Dean of Academic Affairs to allow Kurt to enroll in or at least audit classes, since Dalton offered almost all the Advanced Placement courses. Kurt had mixed reactions to the possibility, uncertainty that it could work out, but mixed with hope that it could and the awareness that he might be able to save enough college costs that he could afford a better school than the kinds that would accept a student who would require a full scholarship. Hamza's encouragement and even Blaine's made it seem much more possible.

Inside the dorm room, Blaine as usual held Kurt's jacket as he took it off, then removed his own. But instead of following with the usual kisses, Blaine closed his eyes and shook his head. "I still can't believe it." He sat heavily on the bed and shook his head again. "I actually feel kind of dirty." He laughed shortly. "I need to shower and think a bit." Kurt sat to finish some Spanish exercises. Mr. Schue had, at Kurt's request, sent him the class assignments, which he graded and returned, and it would be good to get this one done early.

* * *

Sue Sylvester certainly hadn't gotten where she was by caring about whether other people were asleep. Or even in a coma, for that matter. If she needed them to talk or to be talked to, she'd do it, so poking Will Schuester in the ribs with a pointed fingernail was nothing, despite his childish complaint that it was 4:30 in the morning.

"But I was awake," she explained, slowly and patiently. "And because you spend more time communicating with the school's legions of losers than I can bring myself to, I need information."

"Couldn't it wait until morning?"

"I didn't feel like waiting, obviously."

Will surrendered to the inevitability of Sue's getting her way in the same manner that a cannonball dropped from a helicopter onto a picnic surrenders to gravity. Sue had witnessed this from personal experience, though needless to say, not from the perspective of somebody on the ground. "What is it?"

"I took my Cheerios to the gun range yesterday and it showed yet another lamentable weakness. Only Santana stood her ground when the Marines said that it was for their exclusive use and we shouldn't have broken onto the base. I pointed out that as government property, it also belongs to individuals like me and threatened to court-martial them all, but it really wasn't worth taking it as far as I did, except for the pleasure of making Marines cry, since arming my Cheerios would create more problems than it would solve. Only half of them are safe with a car, let alone a small, easily fired weapon. I reluctantly abandoned the idea of an armed division of Cheerios and now we need to think of another way to make the school safe for Porcelain to return."

After a moment, she poked Will again. "Has your hair gel entirely blocked your ears or are you trying to think? I've personally declared a zero-tolerance for bullying, but until the UN gets off their collective asses and makes my wishes international law, or the Nobel Prize people award only successful attempts to clone me, that won't be enough." She thought for a moment. "The UN can't enforce its own international laws anyway, so it's up to the Nobel Prize. Or maybe the MacArthur Genius Prize. But that's going to take at least a year, since neither of them returns my phone calls any more. I need to enforce this sooner than that.

"So think about it, William, and report to me in the morning." Sue turned over and went back to sleep.

Will was able to clear his brain of the mental image of armed bands of Cheerios roaming the halls and shooting out disputes, something he suspected he wouldn't have been able to a few months ago without at least extensive therapy. He supposed this was part of getting used to Sue. But she did have a point. If the administration wouldn't, and only a few teachers would, there would have to be a critical mass of students who refused to tolerate bullying.

The Glee kids had learned how to stick up for themselves and one another. Ignoring bullies and taking consolation in having a brighter future doesn't work when it puts that future at risk. Turning the other cheek doesn't work when that means that the other cheek will itself get turned into hamburger. The Cheerios would do whatever Sue told them to. Sue herself had changed, picking only on the aggressors and, it appeared, also on US Marines. Well, that was Sue. He himself had to be more active in taking names and kicking ass. There were a few other teachers and other staff members who might be interested enough to help. When he and Brad had gone out drinking after an especially trying week, Brad had admitted to getting to like some of the kids, even if he did suspect Santana and Brittany of making out on his piano. He might be willing to patrol the halls, too. But that still wasn't enough.

It was Figgins that was the problem. He was too scared for himself; he just wanted to keep his job until he could retire. He overlooked the bullying, he overlooked anything that didn't help or hinder his job security. That was acceptable in a school where everything was going fine, one that didn't need leadership, but at one where _all _the students needed somebody to speak up for them, not just the ones who won games and competitions, it wasn't good enough. Will had tried talking to him quietly and reasonably, had tried pleading with him to make the school safe, but as far as Figgins was concerned, budget shortfalls, winning track records, teaching to the various standardized tests, and avoiding lawsuits were the only things that mattered. That was all that concerned the school board and so that was all that concerned him.

So the next thing was to find a way to make Figgins care or make the school board care. Will squinted and blinked in surprise at just how easily a plan for that came into his head. Looking fondly at Sue, he said, "You're a good bad influence," and happily spooned against her. He must be a bad good influence on her, too, he realized, since lately she hadn't even lowered his grades for spooning afterward.

* * *

Lynne's dumping David kept forcing thoughts of Kurt's being with somebody else into Blaine's head. As he showered, he allowed those thoughts to occupy him, like an injured hiker would slowly try to put his weight onto a twisted ankle, to see if he'd be able to make it back. The water flowed unceasingly down his body as he let each image in. Other lips and hands exploring every millimeter of Kurt's body, uncovering all the spots that could make him shiver. Another mouth catching Kurt's in a kiss, except perhaps tilting Kurt's head up rather than lightly pulling it down. Somebody else's face buried in Kurt's shoulder or the small of his back, somebody else's hands or mouth coaxing Kurt's member into arousal, somebody else hearing Kurt's soft breathing during the night. Other hands buried in his hair. Blaine leaned his hands into the shower wall, gasping for breath. If this kind of mental torture is what David was enduring...

Blaine turned the water off, dried himself, and dressed again. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and whispered, "Courage."

Kurt was absorbed in a book and didn't look up as he emerged from the bathroom, and Blaine watched him fondly for a few moments, then crossed the room. He didn't think that he'd be able to manage this if Kurt were too close.

"Kurt?"

His dear Trophy looked up. "Hmmm?"

"I want you to go to David."

Kurt frowned, clearly not understanding. "I barely know him, it's not like I could say anything much."

"No, I mean I want you to stay with him." Kurt's eyes widened but Blaine could see that he had put it to obliquely. Kurt was only sensing and not fully understanding his meaning. "Like you've been with me."

* * *

AN: Sorry for the delay!

Please do review, I'm not quite sure how to charge through the writer's block where I know what's going to happen next (I think) but getting the words down is like pulling teeth. From an alligator who doesn't appreciate it and can also disappear into another dimension when it feels like it. So I'm hoping that a comment will anesthetize the alligator. If that makes any sense at all!


	19. Chapter 19

Kurt's hand flew to his mouth protectively. "Let me get this clear," he heard himself say, in a raspy, harsh voice that he almost wouldn't have recognized as his own. "You're telling me that you want me to go...sleep with David."

Blaine looked at him with an infuriating mix of pity and condescension, as if he were explaining something far too simple. "Right now, David is in a lot of pain and he's got to feel lonely and unwanted. He is bisexual, or at least bi-curious, remember? I know you weren't expecting this, but after all, it's not that different from your coming here to be with me, is it?"

"You...you said that you loved me," Kurt almost whispered.

"Kurt, of course I do. I don't think you realize how much you've come to mean to me. But this is what I want you to do."

"You want to pass me around like a fuck toy." Kurt couldn't believe that Blaine had the effrontery to look pained at the harsh words.

"You _know_ that's not how I see you and it's not how David sees you."

"Do I really?" Kurt found himself shrieking as he repeated, "Do I really?" He could see Blaine waiting patiently as he choked back indignant sobs of helplessness, and when he couldn't stop fighting them, Blaine quietly went to the bathroom, returning with a glass of water and a cold washcloth, which he gave to Kurt. Kurt wordlessly accepted both, since the gesture had to signify that Blaine had relented. Blaine took the washcloth back and Kurt heard him refreshing it with more cold water.

"Better?" Blaine asked, this time wiping Kurt's face himself, and Kurt nodded, still not sure he could speak. Blaine was peering at him with the same concern that he had shown when Kurt was sick and Kurt felt almost as weak as he had then, but with relief. Blaine waited another few moments, and then asked, even tenderly, "Ready now?" Kurt's jaw dropped as he realized that nothing had made a difference.

He couldn't stay in that room a moment longer and backed towards the exit, closing the door and shutting out the sight of Blaine's still-concerned and handsome face.

He was so numb now that he could even think clearly, if slowly, and he knocked on Hamza's door. Even if there was nothing that Hamza could do, at least he might have advice, whether Kurt would have any chance of successfully pleading with Blaine, or even trying to refuse.

As he considered the possibility of refusing, he wondered if Blaine, if the Warblers, would really use force on him. Would they really be willing to strip away the gilding of civilization, to hold him down or to tie him so he couldn't struggle or escape? Or would they find forcing some kind of drug down his throat a more decorous solution? His knocking grew to near pounding as he realized that he honestly didn't know, but he suspected that yes, some of them would take this to the logical conclusion of how a trophy of war is treated. But Hamza wasn't there to provide advice or even the possibility of an intermediary, somebody they might listen to as a fellow Dalton student. Kurt wasn't even sure that they would listen; after all, he had agreed to the terms.

Kurt didn't want Blaine to come out and find him lingering. He left the dorm, the cold outside chilling but also calming him as he tried to consider his other options. He knew any of his Glee friends, or Mr. Schue or Coach Sylvester would offer to take him in, to try to hide him, but he couldn't imagine the Warblers hesitating to notify the police, even if they told themselves that it was to make sure that he hadn't just run away, that he was all right. They'd notify the police, or even private police forces, now that those were legal. They would know how to find him and Kurt remembered that the penalty for attempting to break the contract was at least tripling its length. He could get through the remaining three months, but not another year, or even longer. He didn't know what the exact penalties would be for helping him, but he was sure that it would at least open whoever assisted him to lawsuits, if not criminal charges. Even if the lawsuits _could_ be fought, all the better-funded party had to do was drag it on. No, he couldn't do that to any of his friends.

He knew that realistically, he had no chance of successfully running on his own. It would take longer to find him than if he went someplace obvious like a friend's, but he had no resources. Without identification that he could use, his odds of finding a job were miniscule. He might find a chop shop that would want his mechanic's skills and ask no questions, but even if he managed to subdue every mannerism that marked him as gay, he'd still be a target, and if there were any reward for his return, as he suspected there would be, he'd be living every day in terror of somebody turning him in or the police even raiding the shop and finding him as a bonus crime solved.

Was there any kind of story he could make up to get Blaine to change his mind? Was there any factor that he could manipulate? Could he find a way to make Blaine jealous of David again? Or could he tell Blaine that he was afraid of David, that David had taunted him with his helplessness and threatened what he'd do once Blaine was tired of Kurt and passed him on? No, that wouldn't work, Blaine would never believe him over David and so it would only make the situation worse. He'd been lucky that his previous attempts at manipulation hadn't done much harm, and even brought his dad and Carole together, but there was no way this could succeed.

He was momentarily tempted to call Karofsky and say that he'd changed his mind. At least with Karofsky, it would be only one person who had full ownership of his body. But then, Karofsky now thought that he was just a whore and Kurt could only guess at the kind of brutality he'd receive. Karofsky hadn't and probably couldn't even understand why Kurt had reluctantly accepted the clothing and other gifts from Blaine rather than risk the likely consequences of refusing. He threw his head back, thinking that if only Karofsky had made his offer with no strings attached, or had even made the condition something like forgetting about the past bullying and starting fresh, if only there had been anything loving or even gentle in Karofsky's offer, he almost definitely would have fallen for a certain chubby, sweaty jock destined for baldness by 30. But no such luck for him...it was just another "if only." If only Blaine saw him as human, if only Karofsky had offered help freely, if only he himself had voted against pursuing the competition with Dalton...

He was aware again of the wind picking up and biting through his clothing. If he ran away, he'd be too easily found if a friend helped him and too easily turned in if he hid elsewhere. Either way, it was living in terror until he was caught or something worse happened to him. The thought of suicide, of ending this and any future misery, did pass through his mind, and even included a hint of satisfaction at the thought of Blaine's reactions. While so much of Blaine's mind was a mix of contradictions and mysteries to him, Kurt did know that Blaine would regret and even mourn his death. But that was no reason to cause worse grief to those who genuinely loved him. No, the only thing he wanted for them was to be able to return to them. He'd have to climb this hill for the next months.

While Kurt didn't believe in a god, he sent a swift, felt more than worded plea to whatever force there might be in the universe that still protected or at least commiserated with the helpless and desperate and to whatever might still resonate in the universe of his parents' love for him. He asked whatever might be out there for strength and something to hold onto, and resolutely walked to David's dorm.

* * *

David left his phone untouched on his dresser, with all the alerts set to vibrate. After the first few calls and texts, during which he barely managed to thank people for their concern and say that he felt bad but was sure he'd be okay, maybe it was for the best, he felt too drained and battered to talk, as if he'd taken a physical beating. Instead, he recorded that message for his voicemail and email autoreply and set it up as his Facebook status. When he'd logged onto Facebook, he had automatically looked for updates from Lynne, but managed to turn away so he wouldn't see whatever it was.

He'd tried to put on music, but angry music made him morose and sad music made him furious. He didn't need any help swinging from one to the other. His room was too damn full of her, as if she had actually arrived and was there with him, but on her way out the door. It was only the buzzing from the dresser that told him that he wasn't alone with her presence.

He snatched the photographs of them together from the dresser. _How could it have gone so wrong when it was so perfect? Was it something that I did or didn't do? _He'd stare into her bright, laughing eyes and wonder where it had all gone. _Is there something wrong with me that she couldn't love me any more? Will anybody ever want me? _Then finally the anger came back and he could slam the picture hard into the wastebasket, the sound of the smashing glass on the framed pictures giving him a moment of dark excitement. _To hell with you, bitch! Stupid slut, I'm over you! Good riddance! _

The room was filled with the things he'd gotten to please her, candles, silk sheets, chocolate-covered strawberries to feed one another. When he remembered as if he was seeing and feeling it then and there, the way her little pink cat tongue would coil around the strawberry and around his fingers, while her eyes glinted with seductiveness and innocence, he threw them on the floor and crushed them under his foot, grinding them until the pink juice was dirtied with the debris from the chocolate. Then the destruction reminded him of his anticipation, of how just the thought that she was coming was enough to make him burst into song, which made the tears come again. Desperate to hold something, he hugged his pillow and cried into it until he was almost choking on tears and mucus.

_You think love is so great but it's just tears and snot. Sets you up, makes a fool of you, makes you infatuated, and then pulls the rug from under you, leaving you to blubber like some kid who's been pushed over on the playground. You're better off not caring at all. _He caught sight of one of the scented candles and as he picked it up to throw away, the odor of sandalwood, her favorite, caught him in memories again. The first time that they had made love, how she had draped her arms around his neck, rubbing amorously against his body, while he stood there, so entranced that he could hardly move until she caught his hands in hers and drew him to the bed. Her pink-tipped fingers down his chest, the way he had kissed the curve of her throat as she leaned back and gasped, the way her breasts fit in his hands as though hands and breasts were made for each other. How she had murmured his name as she guided him into herself, and how it felt as though he was drowning in love. _And look where all that got you_, an inner voice sneered. _She was playing you like a violin and then she upgraded_. _But what did I do wrong_? She couldn't have been tricking him all that time, could she? And if she was fooling him, playing him all that time, was there anything at all in love? Or was it just something that people made up to camouflage how basic and ugly it was underneath, people gaming one another for the mate with more prestige or better resources. Maybe that was it, David thought as he sat heavily on the bed, his thumb automatically caressing the silk of the sheet, as cool and smooth and soft as her skin. He'd not just fallen out of love but out of love with love, he decided. A part of him even felt proud for having seen through all of this. There was love you could trust—his brother Warblers, a few other friends, his family—and the near-constant buzzing of the phone on his dresser was testifying to that right now. Then there was the love that you couldn't trust, and that was the love that used sex and desire and beauty to trick you. That was the love whose mask he'd just seen ripped off. He knew now which love he'd believe in.

He first ignored the knock at the door, hoping whoever it was would go away, but it repeated, and somehow seemed urgent. "Who is it?"

"It's Kurt." His voice sounded strange and thin through the door.

"Look, thanks for coming and all that, but now is really not a good time."

"Blaine sent me." He still sounded strange and David figured that opening the door would be the fastest way to get rid of him. Blaine probably thought that sending a relative stranger might help but hadn't stopped to think that sending over the guy that seemed to keep Blaine in a constant state of rut wasn't exactly helpful. Maybe Blaine did have the right idea about how to handle sex, friends with benefits and for more, a contract with a definite termination date, where you could have affection but not love. Fine, he'd tell Kurt that he was okay, let him see with his own two eyes if he had to, and then send him back. He opened the door and stepped partway out, blocking Kurt's view of the mess he'd made inside for fear that he'd overreact.

"Tell Blaine that I'll be all right, honestly." He didn't feel much like it, but he smiled to reassure the clearly nervous Kurt. It was even kind of endearing that the situation seemed to affect Kurt so much, and his smile became at least partly genuine. "It's a rollercoaster, but I will be okay. You can go tell him that," he added, wondering as he heard himself what instinct led him to make his voice so gentle, as though Kurt were a skittish animal ready to bolt.

Kurt closed his eyes for an instant and looked like he was trying to form the words before actually vocalizing them. "No...it's not that. Blaine wants me...he wants me to, to stay the night. To sleep with you."

David wasn't sure he could process every emotion rushing through him then, but four years of Dalton training as well as his parents' impeccable manners had left their mark. He stood aside politely for Kurt. "I think you'd better come in."

David stood looking at Kurt for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He realized that he'd never thought of Kurt as being anything other than Blaine's. It was Blaine who had noticed him, made up the plan, convinced the others, and who had claimed Kurt as his, seeming to fall in love with Kurt. But then it wasn't the case at all, not if Blaine was offering to share him. He'd also never looked at Kurt sexually. Again, Kurt seemed to be so absolutely Blaine's that it would have seemed if not wrong, gauche. Besides, all his thoughts were caught up with Lynne. But now that he was looking at Kurt, he could see slender, athletic limbs, and a clear face with bright eyes. Just the same kinds of features that he had seen in her...if he could only erase those memories of hers with the reality of another body...

His hands were shaking as he reached for Kurt's shoulders and it wasn't until he had stepped closer to lower his mouth to Kurt's that he could feel that it wasn't just his hands. Kurt was shaking like a leaf and that while his eyes were bright, they seemed frozen. As if it were a lab experiment, he leaned back, not even stepping back, and observed that Kurt's fists slightly unclenched from the trouser fabric they'd been squeezing and his breathing became more even, if still ragged.

He asked his conclusion as a question. "You don't want this, do you?"

Kurt was still holding his head high but the rest of him seemed to sag as he breathed, softly, "No."

David closed his eyes. Now what to do? He knew what would have happened had Kurt seemed interested, or even merely neutral, or reluctant only out of shyness or the fear of rough treatment, but no matter what the temptation, he couldn't imagine himself taking advantage of somebody so clearly unwilling, no matter what his right to do so might be. Everything he had gone through that day, including this latest and strangest ordeal, made him so tired he felt he could collapse then and there.

The normal, regular things first. He opened the drawer under the bed for his spare pillow and clean sheets and unfolded the chair that turned into a one-person sofa bed, then pointed the regular bed to Kurt. "The sheets are fresh," he said and met Kurt's confused, hopeful eyes.

"Kurt...I'm not going to do this. I'm not going to use you." Kurt's mouth and face crumpled, but no tears came out. Maybe Kurt couldn't even speak, either, because all he did was mouth, "Thank you." David continued as if Kurt had spoken. "We're both exhausted. Go to bed, and no, you are taking the bed," he added, laughing shortly at how manners and conventions could emerge even then—Kurt might not have been able to say anything about not being used, but he was ready to protest that he shouldn't take the bed.

He quickly changed in the bathroom and when he came out, got into the sofa bed. "Good night, Kurt."

"Good night. And thank you."

David was amazed that he actually felt, if not okay, at least better. Maybe it was just having something else major to take his mind off Lynne, but for the first time since he'd left the party and the company of his fellow Warblers, he felt as though things really would get back into balance.

* * *

AN: Thanks so much for the reviews! All the different perspectives and what different folks commented on helped me figure out what was missing to remove the writer's block! I owe you personal thanks, but figured that maybe getting a new chapter up should come first. ;-)


	20. Chapter 20

Will watched from behind the cameras as Sue addressed her viewers. "I'm going to talk about failure today. I'm not even talking about the people who fail to meet even one of the criteria that would make them even deserve to breathe the air I exhale—and really, people, can't you all try harder?-but about how we talk about being more competitive and about rewarding success but we fail to make it possible. That's even more pathetic than people who overload on the hair gel.

"The focus of my bile and vitriol today is a school. It's the school where I teach. As a very rare exception, I'm going to allow other people to speak on my show. It will disappoint the people who only want to see me, but you can't always get what you want. Jennifer, start."

The camera switched to a high school student. "I'm Jennifer. My grades started falling after Kelly Ferrars started bullying me right in the classroom in the classes we shared, right in front of the teachers. I couldn't concentrate any more. The principal said we had to settle our disputes ourselves." Another student. "I'm Artie. Bullies locked me in porta-potties and messed with my chair. I missed a lot of classes because of that. I was told I had to learn to stand up for myself." Another. "I'm Rachel Berry. I've missed classes, too, because I had to clean up and change my clothing after bullies threw slushies all over me. It's important that I have perfect grades so that I can enter the most competitive school of my choice." Another. "I'm Puck. I've done a lot of bullying and I've been bullied, a little. Just a little. I got to mess in serious ways with people's lives. I know there were kids who ditched school because they wanted to avoid me. Nobody in the school administration ever did anything to stop me from bullying people. I had to stop myself. And that's not right."

The camera returned to Sue. "I know a lot of you will say that you were bullied in school and you came out just fine. Ever think about how much better you'd have been if you hadn't been bullied? You might say that it taught you to stand up for yourself. Ever think about how you should have learned that from standing up for more than the freedom to live your life? That's what our schools should do, it's what McKinley should do, and it's what it fails to do. Watch the news tomorrow for more. And that's how Sue sees it."

Sue wore her usual Sue smirk as she walked over to Will. "If Figgins doesn't like this, let's just see how he reacts to tomorrow's little event." She looked at him again. "I've got to admit, Will, sometimes you do have an acceptable idea or two."

* * *

Blaine woke up again early that Saturday morning and decided that he might as well get up. He'd not slept more than a few hours total and what sleep he had gotten was restless, but getting up was better than lying in bed feeling groggy but anxious and, despite himself, still jealous. He was willing to let David find whatever consolation he could in Kurt, and sincerely hoped that he would, but it didn't mean that he wasn't still sick with jealousy. The mental image of the two of them having sex made him want to scream with frustration. As if that weren't enough, he already simply missed his Kurt's company, chatting about music or fashion or movies. He missed how easy it was to trigger Kurt into singing all out, full-throated and full-hearted.

Aside from all that, he was still troubled by how Kurt had taken things last night. Maybe he should have found a way to build up to the idea, or, better yet, see if he could find a way to make Kurt think the idea was partly his. He probably had been too abrupt, but, then, when David was in so much pain, it was hard to focus on anything but that. Kurt would understand that Blaine's first priority had to be David, who had been like an older brother to him from the first day he set foot on the Dalton campus, and who had just had his heart ripped out and apart by a pair of perfectly manicured little hands. But still, it was a shock for Kurt. Plus, Kurt didn't know David as well as Blaine did, didn't know that he would never be brutish about it.

Probably, too, Kurt's perceptions of how people would treat him had been colored, perhaps permanently, by being bullied. He'd picked up enough from Mr. Schuester and from Kurt himself to know that the bullying had been vicious and terrifying. All the more reason to find a way to keep him at Dalton, where he would be safe and cherished. In a way, it was a shame that David was graduating, since David had already been fond of Kurt before and now would be even more attached to him. It would be another person there to make Kurt feel as though he belonged.

On the other hand, Blaine admitted to himself, David's graduating meant that he wouldn't be competing with Blaine for Kurt. As much as Blaine hoped that having Kurt would give David pleasure and consolation, he also hoped that it would be the quickest emotional recovery on record. Maybe if he even started looking around for somebody who actually deserved David, that is, if the Warblers weren't already starting a task force to do just that. He could see that happening, since the Warblers tended to be very organized about things.

But in the meantime, back to Kurt. It had been a shock and even downright painful for him. Blaine hadn't dared to let it show how much Kurt's tears had gotten to him, how much he wanted to give in, to hold Kurt and tell him that he couldn't do it, not even for David's sake, then lovingly lead him to the bed and show him just how passionately desired he was. He'd have to find a way to make up for it to Kurt, something that would really please him. A trip to New York some long weekend to enjoy orchestra seats for a few of his favorite shows? He could imagine Kurt's face when he offered that, the wide grin that he'd seen in those videos. For somebody with such strong opinions on fashion, Kurt didn't seem to get very enthusiastic about shopping, but Blaine would treat himself to renewing Kurt's wardrobe with the best that Madison and Fifth Avenue could offer. Maybe he essentially had a fetish, he decided bemusedly, putting clothing on Kurt during the day and taking it off again, well, as soon as possible.

He got some coffee from the kitchen and sat at his laptop to look at what shows would be available for any of the upcoming long weekends. Spending time on that and otherwise planning the trip would keep him well-distracted from any jealous thoughts of how this morning, it was David waking up with Kurt in his arms. Maybe. At least he'd try.

* * *

Hamza was ready to avenge the watering hole incident. He and Daisuke had an ongoing vendetta and he'd made it far too easy for Isamu last time. He never, ever should have fallen asleep during DVD night, especially because he knew he often slept with his mouth wide open. It was simply inviting Daisuke to demonstrate his origami skills by folding tiny giraffes, ostriches, and elephants and carefully balancing them on his face so that it looked like they were peering into his mouth. Replacing all the photographs in the online student newspaper was the pictures Daisuke had captioned "At the Watering Hole" the only logical next step for Daisuke. But tonight, revenge would be his. He'd found and repaired a discarded wall sconce from Daisuke's dorm building. Merely building a fake wall over Daisuke's room was basic, but adding an operating light sconce and electric outlet, complete with an ice machine that would get to enjoy a vacation, well, at least a working vacation, from its usual home on the third floor, would add some flair, as would setting it in at the depth of a door, in the hope that Daisuke would automatically pull out his key and try to unlock it. The web camera hidden in the door, of course, was mandatory.

Hamza caught sight of the textbooks he'd put out to give to Kurt. He'd better do that before he left for the library. Scooping them up, he knocked on Blaine's door.

Blaine opened up, looking less than his usual polished self, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair unkempt.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"No, I was awake."

"I came to give these to Kurt, but I can leave them if he's not here."

Blaine blinked, distractedly. "Sure, I'll see that they get to him."

Hamza felt a twinge of uneasiness. "Get to him? Is he not here?" A sudden, happier thought came to him. Had Kurt somehow been able to go home?

"No...he's with David..."

Hamza nodded. "Of course, Kurt's gone through so many ordeals lately." He looked sharply at Blaine and felt his disgust return full force when Blaine didn't even seem to notice, let alone feel a twinge of his conscience. "I'm sure he's a good confidant for David now."

Blaine still looked distracted. "I'm packing a bag for him, I'll put the books in."

"Packing a bag?" That didn't make sense and Hamza's earlier unease returned as full-force worry.

"Yeah, David...it was such a blow to him, so I felt that-" Blaine paused and swallowed hard as Hamza thought fiercely to himself that this couldn't mean what he thought it might, but why else would Blaine look strained and why else would Kurt need a bag? "I felt that the least I could do was...share Kurt, just for a while."

Hamza dropped the books and had to force his now-free arms behind his back to keep from physically attacking Blaine. His mouth opened but it was suddenly as though he were back in his own past, just after he saw the mortar shell hit and obliterate Hussain's building. It was just the same, too many emotions, too much bursting inside, but nothing able to come through as words. He knew only one thing to do, and turned and ran towards David's dorm to try whatever he could.

As he ran, he found himself praying, invoking Allah's names. _Compassionate one, Source of Peace, Guardian, protect him, help him, Forgiver, Provider, Utterly Just, please, help him, don't let him be hurt. _He prayed that he'd not find Kurt as he feared he would, numb or broken. David would have been angry and humiliated last night, and Kurt, depersonalized both as the trophy and as a gift from Blaine, was there and available as a target for that anger and humiliation...if Kurt had refused to be used, it could have provoked even worse anger, and if he'd instead yielded, that surrender could have provoked abuse of that power, to avenge the humiliation.

He'd never seen reason to suspect David of cruelty, but even if David hadn't been abusive, if he'd simply been hungry for sex, Kurt would still have endured another ordeal, being given away like an object, what would that have done to him? _Pure one, Creator, Loving one, All Powerful, help him._

He raced up the steps of the dorm and stopped at the directory to identify David's room number. Tearing up to the second floor, he oriented himself and forced himself to take several deep breaths and calm himself as much as he could. He had to be steady enough to find a way to help Kurt, and as much as his instincts demanded it, bursting in as an aggressor wouldn't be the best opening. No, he'd have to assess the situation and hope that somehow, someway, he had inherited enough diplomatic or bargaining skills to be of use. At least he'd been able to push the tumult of emotions down enough to be able to speak.

He knocked at the door instead of pounding. After nothing happened, he pressed an ear to the door, hoping that wouldn't be the moment David opened it. Silence inside. He mentally debated the next step and then tried the door handle very gingerly. It was open, which was a surprise. He knocked again and then opened the door just a crack. Not hearing anything, he opened it further, finally opening it enough to stick his head in. The first thing he saw was David, a towel around his waist, drying his hair vigorously with another towel, and looking at him in confusion.

"Uh, come in?" David asked, then raised his fingers to his mouth in a "hush" gesture, jerking his head towards the bed where Kurt lay, just the top of his head showing, sound asleep. Hamza then noticed that the sofa bed was open and felt a tiny surge of hope. Could it mean what he thought it might? "On the other hand, give me a second to get dressed and I'll come out."

Hamza leaned against the wall to wait as patiently as he could. That had been a very awkward moment when he and David were peering at one another in confusion. His thoughts kept returning to the open sofa bed. Perhaps all it meant was that afterward, they hadn't shared a bed, but then David's seeming to have forgotten that Kurt was in the room when Hamza opened the door, would that have happened if he had slept with Kurt? The door opened quietly and David stepped out into the hall.

Hamza couldn't think of anything more diplomatic to say than, "Is Kurt all right?"

David nodded. "He's fine. Just sleeping. So what exactly are you..."

He decided to put it simply. "Blaine told me what he had told Kurt to do. I was afraid for him."

David heaved a long sigh. "To clear up any doubt, no, I did not make him sleep with me." He paused and took another deep breath. "I couldn't do it." Seeming to realize the possible implication, he added, hastily, "No, I mean I _could_ have, that would _not _have been a problem, but the moment I started, I could tell that he really didn't want it. If he'd been just shy or whatever, that would have been one thing, but it was so obvious he...it would have felt like I was raping the poor guy, so I backed off."

Hamza took a deep breath of relief. "That was, that was incredibly generous of you. Especially after what happened to you."

"Yeah," David breathed. He shrugged with one shoulder. "Maybe that was in the back of my head, that I wasn't going to put somebody else through pain, especially not somebody I like."

"Or maybe you should just take the credit for being a good guy."

"Anybody would have, come on."

Hamza raised an eyebrow. "You really think so? You really think that anybody else who had been treated the way you had and was presented with a sex object, depersonalized as 'the trophy,' wouldn't have come up with some excuse to brush away any moral discomfort and gone right ahead? When according to every single social signal here, you were entirely entitled to take what you wanted? Think about it, David," he urged, and David looked away in clear discomfort. Hamza took another deep breath and mentally asked for help. "David, this has to end now."

Nodding slowly, David said, "I'm going to talk with Blaine today. He meant well, God knows, and I appreciate what it must have taken for him to offer to share Kurt. He's even admitted a few times when we were talking that he _knows_ he's possessive of him, that part of him doesn't like it when Kurt is even talking to somebody else. It was huge for him to make the offer, but he should have made _sure_ Kurt was okay with it, not just assumed he was."

_Every word, every syllable counts, and I'm afraid I'm going to fail. Or maybe I have already, if that's what he thinks I meant. And even if this succeeds, how do I know it won't fail when...please, I'm not up to this! Why can't it be somebody who actually knows what they're doing? _Hamza surreptitiously wiped the sweat from his palms. "That's...that's not quite what I meant. It all has to end. Blaine has to give him up completely."

David frowned in utter perplexity. "You mean to me? But Kurt doesn't want that."

_If that's all that he can see, there's not a chance. _Hamza was ready to give up, to shake his head and say, "Of course, you're right, sorry," find a way to back out without further embarrassing himself, further exposing himself and his convictions, and possibly making things worse for Kurt. He didn't know if it was an unexpected quixotic streak, perhaps a sudden rise in his embarrassment tolerance, or the hope that the help would come if he had enough faith to take the risk, but he found what he needed to speak out. "No. I mean that he has to give his freedom back to Kurt. To let him go home."

David stared as though Hamza had suggested that they relocate the school on the moon.

* * *

**AN: I'm not a Muslim myself, so I just hope that I got the way that Hamza would pray with some of the 99 Names right. I'm fairly sure it is, but if I got it wrong, apologies in advance for a mistake made in lack of knowledge, not in disrespect, and I'd appreciate any corrections. **

**Reviews are like whiskers on kittens. Except they don't occasionally get shed. And kittens can't use them to tell how narrow a space is. And they don't tickle your hand. But aside from all that, they're virtually identical! **


	21. Chapter 21

_The Friday before._

"Brass knuckles, Sue?"

"William, do you have some unhealthy obsession with Jeopardy? I ask because you have a habit of stating the perfectly obvious as a question. It's not the most irritating of your habits, mind you, but it is there." Sue paused from unpacking the boxes to give him a piercing stare and then returned to her task.

"All right, Becky, I've given you the list of people to give these boxes to. Do you know all of them? They're the ones who burst into song in the hallways and the rest of the Cheerios."

"Yes, Coach." Becky nodded eagerly.

"Good."

Will said, weakly, "I thought they'd be ribbon pins. There's got to be a color for bullying."

"Ribbons? Ribbons are overdone. Nobody even notices them any more," Sue scoffed. "But 1.5 inch wide brass knuckle pins, those get attention. Rather like your use of hair gel, except that's more of a cry for help." She looked around. "Becky's giving the pins to your Gleeks and the Cheerios to distribute. Manga-eyes is giving them to the Science Club and you and I will stand at the doorway and give pins or boxes to anybody else who should wear or share them."

Sue had called an emergency assembly for third period, alerted the media, prepared camera-ready footage, gotten Rachel's dads to have handouts ready just outside the No Soliciting zone, and ordered pins for students. Will realized that he should have asked one or two more questions on exactly what kind of pins she had ordered.

"Oh, good, here comes Figgins. I think he looks a little flustered, don't you?"

"Sue Sylvester, what is this? Last night you aired our school's dirty laundry in public, and now you have called a special assembly, which I shall immediately cancel. You have gone too far!"

Sue took three steps forward. "I agree entirely that I aired our school's dirty laundry in public because _you_ didn't have the guts to wash it in private. _You_ just let it pile up. What's more, I have not gone too far. You have not gone one step far enough."

"You cannot just call a special assembly like this!"

"And yet reality is saying that I have." She ignored Figgins to stride over to two students who had arrived early. "Have you ever been bullied? Or bullied anybody?" The two looked at her in confusion and one said, "Uh, sometimes?" with the air of somebody desperately trying to be anywhere but there while simultaneously not moving a single muscle.

"Then wear these. Everybody who has bullied or been bullied at McKinley is wearing one today." Sue strode back to stare Figgins down. "In case the sound of your own chattering teeth didn't let you hear, everybody here who has bullied or been bullied is wearing one of these today so that this town can see just how bad the problem is. There are two lawyers and their interns arriving to share handouts about how bullying interferes with the legal right to an education and, by some strange coincidence, about how class-action lawsuits work. I prefer swift Sue Sylvester style justice, myself, but I think the school board might pay more attention to the threat of a lawsuit."

As more students filed through the doors, Will noticed Puck going through the crowd putting the pins on several jocks, without the preliminaries of asking. Brittany came up to ask Sue for another box, "since the bear ate mine. She likes them better than doughnuts." Sue came back to Will just as the bell for class started. "I'd imagine that right about now, Figgins is discovering that he can't use the announcement system. I must admit, Lauren has some raw talent for demanding bribes and delivering on the results."

As Will went to his class, he heard a confident voice from the loudspeaker. "Despite the inane ramblings that you might have heard, the third-period assembly is taking place. It is mandatory for all students and the media will be present." He shook his head, laughing under his breath. What the threat of Sue might not accomplish, the lure of television cameras would.

The assembly was uninterrupted by Figgins' attempts to have the auditorium doors locked, since Will had removed the locks the night before with the assistance of a sympathetic janitor who said that he'd seen enough bullying to make him sick. Finn was the first on the platform, so naturally the assembly started with terrible microphone feedback and several "Oh, is it on now?" questions.

"I was supposed to be a leader here, but for a long time, I led bullies, then I let bullying happen, even when I knew it was wrong. The administrators were supposed to make this a place where people can learn, but they didn't care about learning." He looked at his hand in what looked like panic and then turned it over and continued. "They just cared about whatever numbers would make them look good. But now we're going to hold them accountable and we're going to hold ourselves accountable. Uh, this next part gets kind of mathy so somebody else is going to do it."

Will closed his eyes and reminded himself to tell Finn about the difference between script and notes. But he also noticed more than a few cameras going off and that most of the students were paying attention.

Tina was next on the stage. "I asked students to add up how much time they lost to bullying so far this year. The numbers add up to 935 hours, or more than a year's worth of time. On average, the student body loses 17 hours a day to bullying, times 5 days a week, over the eleven weeks so far, that's 935 hours. That's just the 935 hours that people admit to losing. Don't you think that our students deserve better than that? Or even if you don't, don't you think the taxpayers deserve better value?" Will and Sue were standing to the side of the stage to make sure that nobody interfered, and he felt her take his hand and squeeze it in triumph.

Rachel was next. She hadn't even grumbled too much when Will and Sue had said that it really wasn't appropriate for her to sing, and he was almost suspicious that she might, anyway. "I was unusually nervous about this because bullying is such an important topic, so I was fiddling with the pin, which is made of rather flimsy plastic." She was going off script. Seriously off script. "I accidentally broke the middle knuckle. Then my sense of theatricality told me that breaking it is an excellent symbol. If you have been bullied and aren't going to tolerate it any more, or if you have bullied and pledge not to do it or to tolerate it any more, also break the middle knuckle to show that you're breaking the bullying culture here." When Sue leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Good touch," he did his usual hallucination scan of the room—no, no pink elephants or flying monkeys here—to make sure that he had actually heard Sue praising Rachel. As he heard the crackling sound of plastic throughout the auditorium, Will nodded in agreement to Sue and grinned his approval to Rachel.

Not that he had any illusion that it would be enough by itself. But if he and Sue and the students who filled the leadership vacuum kept the pressure on the administration and kept reinforcing whatever culture change they saw, every difference would build up. It would be hard and sometimes discouraging but it would happen.

* * *

_Back to Saturday morning._

David truly did not like what he was hearing. What he most disliked was the growing uneasy sensation that Hamza had a couple of good points. To rebut them, David kept returning to the one unassailable fact: Kurt and New Directions knew what Trophy Rules involved and they agreed. They agreed to it. Those were the consequences. He and Hamza had been arguing for nearly 20 minutes and it kept coming back to that.

Hamza shook his head wearily. "I know. I know he did. I can't dispute the facts or that it's legally sound or that a deal's a deal or that Blaine or anybody else on the Warblers would have accepted the consequences, too." He sighed. "That's why I can only _ask_ you. And that's what I am doing. I'm asking."

David got up and paced yet again. "It's not even up to me. It's up to Blaine. And if you think he'd give Kurt up for good, give him the option to leave, you're crazy."

"Probably." Hamza's voice and eyes were somber; he wasn't joking around at all. "But don't you think they both deserve the chance?" He sat up from his slouched position. "David. How about if I don't ask you to agree, I don't ask you to side with me, I only ask you to ask Blaine to listen? Could you live with that?"

David sat down again, stared at his shoes, and considered. It would satisfy his conscience, which was steadily reminding him of Kurt's thousand-yard stare last night. He'd stopped, yes, but he'd come uncomfortably close to a line he had never, ever, thought he'd approach, let alone come near crossing. "Okay. I'll ask him to listen."

Hamza added, his voice uncertain, "There's one other person I want to help ask Blaine, this Mr. Schuester, who knows Kurt better than any of us. Kurt said that he's been something of a guardian to him." David was ready to refuse, to say that Hamza couldn't bring in outsiders to pressure Blaine, but as he opened his mouth, he remembered meeting Mr. Schuester after that bully from McKinley had come to pressure Kurt. He was so clearly concerned about Kurt that somehow it would have seemed unfair for him not to be there.

He rubbed his forehead as he muttered, "Fine." He only hoped that this wouldn't somehow end in disaster. Blaine was pretty damn intense about Kurt, to put it mildly, and now he was going to ask Blaine to listen to somebody who wasn't even a Warbler, for God's sake, ask Blaine to give him up. Exhibit A was going to be how Blaine had tried to do something unbelievably unselfish for him. A sense of foreboding gripped him and looking again at Hamza, he saw the other student was as uneasy as he was. David nearly said, "Look, I've realized how crazy this is, let's let well enough alone, I'll tell Blaine not to lend Kurt around like a book he'd recommend, it won't happen again," but he had given his word. In a strange rush of certainty, he thought back to Lynne. Her word and her commitments meant nothing to her. Breaking them wasn't even worth explaining. He would never be a person like that. His word, once given, would never be broken lightly.

He put his hands on his thighs and got up. "You call Mr. Schuester. I'll go tell Kurt, if he's awake, to lie low in my room."

* * *

Will picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Mr. William Schuester?" It sounded like a student, but Will couldn't place the voice.

"Speaking."

"My name is Hamza Khouri. I'm a friend of Kurt's at Dalton."

Will thought he heard a tremor in the boy's voice. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not wrong, but...I'm sorry, I'm not explaining things very well. Kurt says that you've been helping him."

"I've been trying to. Does he need help now?"

"I...I do. Blaine, Blaine nearly did something terrible to Kurt, he tried to share him with David because, because David's girlfriend dumped him, and fortunately David didn't do anything to Kurt, he, he realized that it would have been wrong, and I sort of took the moment and thought that if David, who's another Warbler and really close to Blaine asked him to listen, that maybe we could talk him into letting Kurt go home?"

Will wasn't at all sure that he followed. "So who's we? You and David or you and Kurt or all three of you?"

"No, no, David, David isn't convinced, he's just convinced enough to ask Blaine, and I can't ask Kurt, what if Blaine says no, and then Kurt would have to know, but I thought you might? You've known Kurt longer and...and I can't do it alone!"

"Okay, calm down, let me get this straight. You're going to try to get Blaine to let Kurt come visit?" Was Blaine really refusing to let Kurt come back to Lima even for a quick visit?

"No, I mean to release him from the whole trophy thing." Will hadn't realized he'd been staring at the ceiling in silence until he heard an uncertain, "Hello?"

"Yes, I'm still here. That's...that's ambitious." He was still digesting the concept. After his first appeal to Blaine, which had been more a warning of Kurt's potential fragility, he had never thought of something like this. When Will had seen Blaine after the Karofsky incident, he certainly didn't show any signs of wanting to let go of Kurt. Nor had any of Kurt's calls or emails or texts sounded as though it was likely. Will was fairly sure he knew how to read between the lines of comments such as "'Attentive' might be a good word for Blaine."

"But will you help?"

"I, yes, of course."

There was nothing funny in the situation, Will knew that perfectly well, but the huge sigh of relief that came over the phone almost made him laugh. It had been a long time since anybody thought that he'd be the one with answers, he realized, suddenly sobered again.

"Can you come here right away?"

"I'm about an hour and a half away. I'll leave now."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Schuester. Perhaps I can meet you at the front gates?"

"I'll see you then."

Will hung up, then saved the student's number in his contacts. He had a feeling that this was crazy and wished that Sue were around instead of visiting her sister. She somehow knew how to deal with craziness, if only because most crazy couldn't stand up to Sue levels of crazy. But it sounded like speed was vital. He'd use the drive to sort out his thoughts and see what on earth he could figure out.

Once on the highway, he considered calling the Glee kids and spreading the word that there was a possibility, but realized just as quickly that he couldn't raise their hopes like that. He even worried that this Hamza kid was putting too much hope in him. It wouldn't have been very well-placed.

_Snap out of it! _Will could almost hear Sue's voice so clearly that he wondered if she had really implanted something in his brain. After all, she had been running her fingers through his hair quite a lot more than somebody who kept saying she loathed it would. Fortunately, it was his own inner voice that continued. _Self-pity may make you feel better about yourself but it's not getting anything done. You didn't take your chance to stop it, but maybe this is a chance for redemption. Think carefully and think about doing what's right, not what's easy. Start now. If you were Blaine, what would convince you? And what would make you refuse? _Will wished he could think of more ideas in the first category and a lot less in the second, but he had to have hope. He'd do what he could and if it failed, he'd be ready to pick up the pieces. He only wished that he could feel confident, instead of almost sick with dread. Maybe that was what the saying really meant, that courage isn't the absence of fear, but persisting in the face of fear. He hoped that the sayings about courage and stupidity being closely related weren't true as well.

* * *

Thanks for all the reviews! I kept rereading them to push through the writer's block when it seemed like I could spend a week staring at a single sentence that would stare back with a kind of "Yeah, your move, lady" expression, and they helped me figure out what was working and what was a dead end. Thanks!


	22. Chapter 22

Hamza realized how ridiculous it was to wait at the front gates after only an hour, but he couldn't contain himself any longer. He'd finished talking with David, gone to the computer lab to avoid running into Blaine beforehand, and written down the main points that he thought might get through to Blaine. It felt strangely cold-blooded to plot everything out on the computer screen, organizing and re-organizing points in the argument mapping software, when it was pleading for another person's freedom and perhaps his sanity, but he couldn't leave anything to chance. To the infinite mercy, yes, but not to chance. When that was done and he recognized that he'd only make himself frantic if he continued rereading it, he went to wait at the front gates, pacing back and forth to try to still some of his anxiety.

Finally, a car that didn't have a Dalton sticker pulled in and he peered at the driver who was presenting his identification to the security staff. It was a youngish man, by himself, and so Hamza ran up and leaned into the open window as the driver pulled further in.

"Mr. Schuester?" The man nodded and Hamza sighed in relief. "I'm Hamza." He held out his hand, which Mr. Schuester shook warmly.

"Kurt's mentioned you a few times, he says that you've been a good friend to him."

"I hope so. You can park in the lot to the left, that's visitor parking."

"Hop in." As Hamza did so, he noticed how old the car was and that it was in poor condition. So much of a contrast to Dalton's teachers.

"Tell me more about what happened," Mr. Schuester said as he pulled into an open space.

"Blaine is very...very amorous and possessive with Kurt. I think that he loves him, in his own way. David is another Warbler and one of Blaine's closest friends. His girlfriend, David's, I mean, whom he loved very much, broke up with him very brutally, in a way that humiliated him in front of his friends. Blaine...Blaine decided to give Kurt to David that night." He swallowed hard. "Fortunately, David saw, and actually cared, that Kurt wasn't willing. He was even rather shaken by what happened. It brought him face-to-face with the idea that he _could_ have forced Kurt. He agreed that something had to be done. He wasn't going to ask Blaine to let Kurt go, but he agreed to tell Blaine to listen when we ask."

They had gotten out of the car and Hamza was leading them across the campus to the Warbler's room, where David had said that they would meet Blaine. Mr. Schuester stopped for a moment and looked seriously at Hamza. His eyes were troubled. "As much as I hate to say it, Kurt's found the situation, well, endurable. It's bad, but it could get much worse. If we interfere and it gets worse..."

Hamza understood him all too well. "If Blaine gets angry, he could make Kurt's life a living hell. Yes. I know. My imagination's been far too good at supplying me with details." He had hoped it wasn't a legitimate warning, the way that he had kept imagining the possibilities. Being in his dorm room every night, knowing that he'd soon hear Kurt crying out in pain as Blaine abused him, knowing that others were tuning out the sounds or wishing that Blaine would have the consideration to make Kurt quieter. Or less luridly, witnessing Kurt diminish further into a shell every day, losing his spark, his vividness, his pride. Hamza told himself yet again that he had an over-active imagination and that he couldn't let it sabotage him.

He met Mr. Schuester's eyes. "I don't think it's likely, though. Blaine's not sadistic. I don't think that he'd deliberately make Kurt miserable. And I think that David wouldn't let him be abusive, and Blaine does care about David." He sighed. "But if that's wrong...if Blaine is so possessive that he'd resent somebody even suggesting that he give Kurt up...I shouldn't be so scared but I am." Looking at Mr. Schuester's expression, he knew there was no easy reassurance, but the other man did put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"I agree with you. Kurt's been guarded, most of the time, about what he says. But what he says about Blaine, and from the times that I've talked with Blaine, I don't think that he'd deliberately hurt Kurt. It seems as though he's blocking out the fact that what he's doing is hurting Kurt."

"That's what we have to do. Make him understand that and then hope that he does care enough to let him go home." They were at the music building where the Warblers had their room. Hamza quickly handed Mr. Schuester the printouts he'd made of the argument maps. "I thought outlining it would help. I don't want to forget anything." He watched anxiously as Mr. Schuester read them through, occasionally nodding.

"This fits what I was thinking. We'll have to improvise, too, of course, based on what Blaine says, how he reacts." Mr. Schuester smiled encouragingly at him. "I do think we've got a chance."

* * *

Will wished he could feel confident instead of just thinking confident thoughts. It was just as well that nobody wandered by singing "Whistle a happy tune" or "Don't worry, be happy," or "My favorite things," because he would have lost it. The music hall, with its wood paneling and old, probably valuable pictures, and immaculate and impeccable fixtures silently boasted of the privilege and power that Dalton and its students wielded. It was secure and casually arrogant, reminding him that they were going to ask somebody to give up a treasured privilege and power.

He remembered David, who got up to meet them. "It's a pleasure to see you again," he said, shaking hands with Will. Will did see exhaustion and more than a little redness in his eyes.

"Thank you for what you're doing for Kurt."

David seemed uneasy. "He's a good kid. But I'm only going to encourage Blaine to do what he thinks is right." Will nodded silently and David added, "He'll be here in just a few minutes. I told him that you want to talk to him and that I agreed that you have something to say."

They sat to wait and after about five minutes, Blaine came in. Will scrutinized him as best he could. Blaine still exuded confidence and charm as he greeted them, looking politely receptive, and he smiled as if acknowledging the awkwardness in the room. "David, you said that you wanted us to meet?"

"First, Blaine, I do appreciate what you meant to do by sending Kurt to me last night. It was a huge gesture."

"And I can hear the 'but.' I can guess what's coming, because I've been thinking about it quite a bit. I admit that it was very abrupt for Kurt and that he had no idea that it was even a possibility." Blaine was leaning forward earnestly. "_I_ knew that you'd be very careful with him and treat him like I would, but he didn't know that. I _am _going to explain it to him and find a way to make it up to him."

Will wasn't sure what to say, whether he should start or wait for David or Hamza to say something first. David leaned forward, mirroring Blaine's position. "Blaine, it was worse than you think for him." Blaine frowned in what looked like alarm and concern. "I _did_ start with him. He was staring straight ahead like he was in shock and when I started to touch him, he was shaking. He wasn't just nervous, he was absolutely hating being there and waiting for me to have sex with him. It would have felt like rape. To both of us."

At least Blaine's smooth surface cracked. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly. Regaining his composure, he said, ruefully, "I hadn't realized. I _really_ have to make it up to him."

Will was ready to say something when Hamza jumped in. "Blaine...he needs more than that from you now. Kurt needs you to let him go. To give him his freedom back and let him go home."

Will felt a sudden misery pass through him as Blaine turned to stare at Hamza incredulously. "Are you out of your mind?" He even laughed in quick derision. "He wasn't safe there, he wasn't happy there, and he wasn't building anything of a future there." Will was about to speak but Blaine turned to him. "With all due respect, you weren't able to keep him safe at all. When he was bullied there, _you_ didn't seem to be able to stop it. Here, when one of _your _bullies came after him, people and the campus security immediately protected him."

"That's changed," Will immediately protested. "He'd be safe there now. Karofsky's gone, and his friends know that Kurt is off-limits now."

"Even if he's physically safe now, would the culture there accept him? Would he be 'the gay kid?' Or would he be Kurt, who is many things, including gay?" Blaine was on his feet, pointing at Will accusingly.

Hamza spoke up before Will could, which was fortunate. He knew that he didn't have a good answer to that question. "Blaine, we know things were bad for him there, nobody would deny it. But it's not good for him here, either." He paused. "Even if he would be 'the gay kid,' he wouldn't be 'the Warblers' trophy.'" He sighed. "Blaine, last night you gave him away like a favorite toy you wanted to share. You turned him into an object for somebody else to use. What if David had had a few drinks to calm down and didn't notice that Kurt was so reluctant? Or Kurt not wanting him made him angry? If David ever had a reason not to be himself, it was last night."

Will added swiftly, before Blaine could get in the point that nothing had happened, "Just having to face what could have happened to him would have been a trauma for Kurt. Just having to be afraid. Kurt's a strong kid, but he's gone through so much lately." He saw a flicker of acknowledgment cross Blaine's face and pressed the point. "Everybody has their breaking point, Blaine. That could have been Kurt's," he added, very gently. He didn't want Blaine to feel too much attacked or on the defensive.

Blaine sat again and Will tried to read the gesture. "I do understand that. In hindsight, I went about it entirely the wrong way. But one mistake is hardly a reason to toss Kurt back."

"Even if this wasn't his breaking point, Blaine, this..experience is still changing Kurt. He's...he's warier than before, he's more guarded." Will caught another uneasy expression flicker across Blaine's face. "He's censoring himself in a way he never did at McKinley. And it's because he knows that here, he doesn't have the option to leave or to fight. You're the one who can dictate what his life is like. Even if you're being nothing but kind to him, he knows that all the options are yours, not his."

Hamza added, quietly, "He hasn't even dared to cry in front of you."

Will heard Blaine's sudden intake of breath. "But he did. Last night."

"Then last night was a breaking point after all." Hamza was speaking urgently. "And he learned that when he did break, you still made him follow orders that he hated." Will stared as Hamza leaned forward to touch Blaine's hand. "Do you really think that he'll not be afraid of returning to your bed?"

Blaine jerked his hand away and stood up. "He's mine." His eyes and stance were defiant, though, rather than as fully confident as before. "He's mine and I love him."

Will saw David just barely shaking his head, from the corner of his eye. He didn't know if it was a warning, denial, sadness, or something else. Hamza stood up to face Blaine, but staying about two feet away. "You love him, yes. He does belong to you now. But what is your love doing to him? He's living with you as your possession. Blaine, what you can do will change his life. You can keep him and hope that he's not going to be hurt. He knows that in the eyes of the law and everybody who accepts that law that he's just an object. Or, Blaine, please listen to me, you can give him back his freedom. Think of it, he'll remember you for the rest of his life, no matter what you decide. You love him. Do you want him to remember you as the one who owned him for four months, treating him kindly but keeping him as a possession? Or do you want him to think of you as somebody who was unbelievably generous to him? As somebody who sacrificed his own love and his own wishes to give back his freedom?"

Blaine's face had gone white. He took two steps backwards, standing against the sofa. Will caught a glimpse of David, watching in concerned silence, but one hand reaching out to Blaine, seemingly unconsciously. Hamza continued. "If you do that for him, he'll truly understand that you love him. He'll remember you as the one who thought his happiness and his peace of mind was worth that kind of pain on your part."

"Stop. Don't ask me to do that. Don't ask me." Blaine was whispering, his eyes whipping from Hamza to Will to David.

"We are asking," Will said. "You're the only one who can do this for Kurt."

Blaine thrust his hands out, low, in what was almost a gesture of pleading. "But he's safe here. And I _love_ him. I don't want to lose him. Not so early. Not now."

A motion to the side caught Will's attention. David had gotten up and moved to stand next to Blaine. "If you do, if you _do_ give him up, we'll all be here for you, all the Warblers. You won't have to be alone without him."

"David!" Will had never thought he would, but he felt a quick pang for Blaine, who in that moment, sounded lost and desperate. "David, you aren't asking me to give him up, are you?"

David put his hand on Blaine's shoulder, ignoring the others. "I'm not going to ask you to do anything except what you think is right. It's your decision, you have to live with it. But you won't have to live with it alone."

Tears were starting to creep down Blaine's face. He looked at Hamza, who was watching him with a steady but almost tender gaze, and then at Will, as if he was on trial and asking for clemency. "I...I don't think that I can."

"But what you'll have, you can always hang on to, is knowing that no matter how much pain you're in, it's for Kurt. If you wait, if you keep him the full time, you'll be in pain then, too, but you won't have that to know." Hamza had walked slowly towards Blaine while saying this and stopped within arm's length of him. "Be generous to him, Blaine, and you and he will both have that to remember."

Blaine shuddered and whispered, "All right," burying his face on David's shoulder as the other boy wrapped his arms around Blaine. "All right." After a long silence, he raised his head again to look at them. "But...but I want two things."

Will felt his heart freeze at that, just as he'd finally allowed the relief to penetrate him. "What are they?"

"I...I don't want to see him...I couldn't."

Will nodded, murmuring, "Of course. You don't have to."

"And I want him to keep everything. I...can he just take everything and go?"

Hamza almost reached out to touch Blaine's back as he burrowed again into David's embrace, but let his hand drop at David's silent headshake. "Of course. We'll take care of everything." Will saw that David's eyes were full of tears, too, whether for Blaine or for his own recent grief, as he gently lowered himself and Blaine to the couch where he silently cradled his weeping friend.

* * *

Will felt his legs shaking as Hamza, looking as if he was still in shock, said, "Kurt will be in David's room." He drew a deep breath. "I hardly can believe that it happened. I prayed, of course, but...I wasn't expecting the answer to be this."

Will didn't think he could even answer. Hamza led the way to the dorm and knocked on the door. Kurt came to it, "Mr. Schue? Hamza? What's...what's going on?" he demanded, looking panicked.

"Kurt," Will breathed. "You're coming home."

"What? What do you mean?" Kurt looked more rather than less nervous.

"Blaine agreed to let you go."

"For how long?" Kurt still looked suspicious.

"Permanently," Hamza said as Will opened his mouth and nothing came out. "He agreed to give you up. For good."

"What?" Kurt turned away for a moment. "I...I don't understand, what happened, is this for real?"

"It is," Will reassured him, himself finding reassurance in hearing it out loud. "We talked to him and he agreed."

Kurt's eyes were round and unbelievably young-looking. "When? How?"

"Blaine told me what he'd done and I came here to make sure you were all right. You were still sound asleep, but David was up. He was pretty disturbed by what had happened so he agreed to ask Blaine to listen to Mr. Schuester and me." Hamza lightly gripped Kurt's forearm. "Kurt, in his own way, he really does love you. That was why he agreed to let you go home, even though he is...he's very unhappy to lose you now."

"I, I still can't believe it."

"He did ask two things. He doesn't think he could stand seeing you before you leave, and he wants you to take everything with you. I know that's not something you want to do, but it's something he needs now." Kurt nodded at Hamza's urging. "We'll go with you and pack up."

Kurt seemed finally to take it in and grabbed Hamza in a fierce hug. He looked at Will who came over and joined them. Kurt was wiping his eyes and Will couldn't help but think for a moment of Blaine crying as David held him.

* * *

Kurt was still in a state of shock, despite what the brisk packing and Mr. Schue's and Hamza's additional details were telling him. He grimaced a little at the pile of clothing, shoes, and accessories on the bed. It certainly hadn't all fit in the suitcase and he put it into a large garbage bag that Hamza had brought. I must still be in shock because I just put Armani into a black garbage bag. And I didn't even tell him that putting couture in a garbage bag is absolute blasphemy.

Every time he caught Mr. Schue's or Hamza's face, they exchanged smiles. Kurt felt himself slowly acclimating to the idea and becoming happy, as though his happiness and relief was some kind of slow-dissolving lump that yet had to circulate into his system. Each smile made it more real.

"Are you sure this is everything?" Hamza asked anxiously. Kurt slowly swept the room with a gaze.

"It really is."

Hamza gestured to the door. "Then perhaps, just in case he comes here..."

Mr. Shuester said, "I'll go get the car."

Kurt looked up at Hamza. "I...I don't know how to thank you enough."

"There's no need." Hamza put an arm around his shoulders. "I will miss you, though, Kurt Hummel."

"You aren't getting away from me that easily. I've told Mercedes all about you and she is distinctly interested."

Hamza laughed and then looked serious again. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Do you really want somebody around who's going to be a constant reminder?"

"I want you around, and what's more important, I think you and Mercedes would be great together."

"I can't fight the siren call of the woman of my dreams," Hamza sighed. Kurt heard a little shakiness still in his friend's voice, despite the light turn the conversation had taken.

"Here's Mr. Schue." He and Hamza threw the suitcase and garbage bags into the trunk as Mr. Schuester got out.

"Goodbye, Hamza, and thank you," Mr. Schue said, gripping his hand. Kurt was next with a long, mutually comforting hug before he got into the car. He waved as the car pulled away, and then watched as each part of the campus left his sight. Once the car was outside the gates, he looked at the Glee director.

"Home. I'm actually going home," he murmured and Mr. Schue grinned at him as he turned onto the highway.

* * *

Epilogue of sorts

Sue Sylvester bought the Hummel house as overflow storage for her cheerleading mementos collection, as she put it, though she never got around to moving any of them over there. Kurt kept his room in the basement.

Principal Figgins was terminated for his inability to keep the media from embarrassing the school and the board. His compliance with the board's order was commendable but his failure to avoid the embarassment to the board was inexcusable.

Will learned to live with Sue's new art collection of pictures of Samson and Delilah. She told him not to worry about them since there was no way that he was that muscular yet and that his hair gel probably has so penetrated every follicle to the extent that scissors would slide right off.

Hamza and Mercedes got along just fine, thank you. Kurt refers to his photographs of the couple as The Diabetes Collection.

Hamza still hides behind furniture any and every time he sees Sue. He sometimes calls her the "woman of my very scary dreams."

If Kurt ever made any guesses about the origins of community foundation scholarships that he received or the refunds from the hospital for Burt's treatments, he kept them to himself.

* * *

AN:

This was a long one! Sorry about the delays-it took me a while to figure out that I was doing every single segment from the wrong person's point of view. :-0

Thanks again for reading and for all the reviews. This was a real exploration for me and it was good to have company along the way.


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